


Dragon Kings: A Story of Aerys I and his descendants

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, House Targaryen, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 62
Words: 160,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aerys I, a weak king, a bookish king, a wise king? What of his descendants and the threats they face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_House Targaryen, of the blood of old Valyria, dragon riders and conquerors came to the island now known as Dragonstone some three hundred years before the conquest when Daenys the dreamer dreamed of the Doom. When the doom came, the line of House Targaryen survived, whilst all the other dragonlords died, and the free cities and the slaver cities and the Dothraki emerged out of the ashes of the once great empire._

_This story however, is not about the Doom of Valyria, nor is it about Aegon’s Conquest. No this story is about the years that followed the first Blackfyre Rebellion, the Tourney of Ashford and the Great Spring Sickness. Now as most of Westeros knows the seeds of the Blackfyre rebellion were planted in the 184 th Year after Aegon’s Landing, when King Aegon the Fourth of his name, otherwise known as Aegon the Unworthy legitimized all of his baseborn children and placed them in the line of succession after his trueborn son and heir Daeron the good. Now two years before his death, Aegon had knighted his bastard son Daemon waters, and upon his death bed bequeathed the Targaryen ancestral sword Blackfyre to Daemon. This started several rumours that it was Daemon whom Aegon wished to succeed him, not his bookish son Daeron, whom rumour had it was believed to be the product of an illicit affair between the King’s brother Aemon the Dragonknight and the king’s sister and Queen Naerys. Now by the time Aegon died, both his brother and his sister had preceded him to the grave, and so neither of them could answer these rumours, this did not however, stop several ambitious nobles such as Robb Reyne and Lord Damon Strickland insinuating themselves with Daemon from the day of his father’s death._

_The rumours kept being fuelled as the years of Daeron the good’s reign progressed and more and more nobles became disillusioned with the bookish and Dornish flavour of the King’s court. Daemon had taken the name Blackfyre, and had started a new house, and was seen by many to be the warrior come to life. He excelled at all martial skills, and he was charming and had many of the characteristics that the more martially inclined nobles of the court believed that a king should have. He was also very charismatic something that his half brother Daeron the Good was not, at least not openly. This coupled with Daemon’s increasing resentment of his bastard status- despite being legitimised- increased the tension between the two brothers, and it is said finally escalated when Daeron the Good decided to marry their sister Danaerys to Maron Martell the Prince of Dorne, as per the agreement struck by King Baelor the Blessed all those years ago._

_It is widely claimed that Daemon Blackfyre loved Danaerys, and was loved by her in turn. That is what the singers and the maidens whose heads are filled with songs and the happiness of youth and childhood claim. The reality may be much darker and much less romantic, for by the time Danaerys was betrothed to Maron Martell Daemon had already married and fathered seven sons and three daughters, so it may have just been a case of Bittersteel’s whisperings finally getting to Daemon, but the man raised his banners- a black three headed dragon on a field of red- and marched to war._

_The first Blackfyre rebellion lasted for one full year between 195 and 196 A.L. There were several small skirmishes between loyalist and rebel forces, at Lannisport, on the banks of the Mander in the Reach and in the Riverlands. Victories were won for either side, but the deciding battle was the Battle of Redgrass Field. Both armies met and a fierce fight was fought, Daemon smashed Lord Arryn’s van killing Lord Arryn and the hand of the King Lord Hayford. And engaged in a legendary duel with Ser Gwayne Corbray, whom eventually died from his wounds, but as Daemon allowed Ser Gwayne to be sent away and tended to his half brother Brynden Rivers, who had stayed loyal to Daeron throughout the war gathered his Raven’s Teeth and reigned arrows down upon Daemon and his twin sons Aegon and Aemon, killing all three._

_The rebel army looked likely to flee, but they were rallied by Bittersteel whom fought a fierce duel with Brynden and took out one of his eyes. The rebel army fought back fiercely and may have broken through the loyalist force, had it not been for Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor’s hammer and anvil tactic. The rebel army broke it on the loyalist shields and spears, and Bittersteel sensing defeat fled with some thirty loyal rebels, and fled across the narrow sea with Daemon’s remaining sons and daughters._

_With the Blackfyre rebellion ended, peace was brought back to the Seven Kingdoms. King Daeron named his eldest son and heir Prince Baelor as his hand, and the Prince along with his father brought stability back to the realm. Princess Danaerys married Prince Maron, thus sealing the alliance of Dorne and bringing it in to the realm, making Aegon the Conqueror’s dream of uniting all Seven Kingdoms a reality. Misfortune thought would strike the royal family soon enough though._

_A mishap during the Trial of Seven during the Tourney of Ashford led to the death of Prince Baelor from a head wound he received from his brother Prince Maekar. Then the Great Spring Sickness of 209 A.L. came and claimed the lives of tens of thousands of people in the Seven Kingdoms. The major cities affected the most; it was bad in Lannisport, worse in Oldtown, but worst of all in King's Landing, where four in ten succumbed to it. A strong man could wake up healthy in the morning and die by the evening, so swiftly did the plague strike. Dorne and the Vale of Arryn did not suffer from the Great Spring Sickness, as they closed off their access roads and their ports to all travellers. The sickness also claimed the lives of King Daeron the Good, his last hand of the King and his immediate heirs Prince Valarr and Prince Matarys._

_As a result of this King Daeron’s second son, Prince Aerys Targaryen ascended the throne in the seventh month of the 209 th Year after Aegon’s Landing, and was crowned King Aerys Targaryen, the first of his name, King of  Westeros, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Aerys had developed a reputation for being a bookish and shy man, and named his uncle Brynden Rivers as Hand of the King, and left it for Brynden to deal with the aftermath of the Great Spring Sickness as well as to deal with the raiding Ironborn. Meanwhile Aerys spent his time reading books and prophecy._

_It was often said that Aerys would rather take his books to bed than his wife, Aelinor Targaryen had married Aerys- her brother- as in the Targaryen tradition of marrying brother to sister. Aerys and Aelinor married in 186 A.L. and remained childless until fourteen years into their marriage when Aelinor gave birth to a girl whom they named Daenys, after Daenys the Dreamer. Another daughter Myriah followed two years later, and then two years after that a son was born to them, the boy was named Aenar, and was a strong and healthy child, but he too succumbed to the Great Spring Sickness and died at the young age of five, leaving Aelinor heart broken._

_Two years into Aerys’ reign, Aelinor gave birth to another son, whom they named Brynden after their uncle Brynden ‘Bloodraven’ Rivers. Brynden was born in 211 A.L. and was a small babe, but he would be remembered in later years as having brought the joy and life back to his mother, Queen Aelinor loved all her children fiercely, but after Aenar’s death some part of her died as well, but Brynden’s birth brought something back to her and so Brynden grew up cherished and loved by the women in his life, his mother and his two sisters. Aerys had very little to actually do with his son at all. And Brynden would learn most of what it was to be king from his uncle Prince Maekar and his great uncle Brynden Rivers._

_Across the narrow sea, the remenants of House Blackfyre sat and plotted their return to Westeros. Bittersteel a harsh man with a cold temperament made use of the friends Daemon had made in Westeros particularly the Lothstons of Harrenhal to gather information about the Seven Kingdoms. This information was put into use during the Whitewalls Tourney, held in the first year of Aerys I’s reign. Many of the nobles who attended were dissatisfied with the bookish nature of the king and wished to put a more martially inclined King on the throne. Bittersteel sent Daemon II Blackfyre to the Tourney to rally support, but the attempt failed and Daemon was captured and later imprisoned in the black cells of the Red Keep so that Bittersteel could not crown his younger brother Haegon king. The lords who met at the tourney accept for Lord Frey were all punished and had their lands or titles taken from them. However, the Blackfyre threat was not over just yet, Bittersteel fought off ill health and disease and kept a close eye on events in Westeros and in Essos and when Aerion Targaryen was exiled and sent to Lys, he sent one of Daemon’s daughters to the Brightflame prince in disguise and had her seduce him and take him to bed, planting the seeds of Targaryen and Blackfyre, for a fall back should the trueborn sons of Daemon Blakcfyre not succeed._

_This story begins in the year 211 A.L. Brynden Targaryen the eldest surviving son of King Aerys and Queen Aelinor has just been born, and the Greyjoy raiders are about to be dealt with._


	2. The Hand With A Thousand Eyes And One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its hard being hand to a king with no interest but books.

**Bloodraven**

He was hand of the king, the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms, he spoke with the king’s voice and yet he could not even convince a woman to marry him. This was the third time he had proposed to Shiera, and the third time she had rejected him. It was becoming like a game between them. They would make love and then come the morn would disperse to their own duties, Shiera was one of Queen Aelinor’s ladies in waiting and Brynden was hand of the King, and yet there were times when he wondered why she never accepted his proposals, it could not be because of Aegor, the man was far away in Tyrosh never to ask for her hand ever again, and besides Shiera herself had admitted to him that she saw Aegor more as a brother than a lover. No she claimed to love Brynden and only him and yet he was not sure, perhaps they were not meant to be, but that was not something he could dwell on just now as he walked toward the Small Council chamber, Ser Roland Crakehall walked behind him, his boots clanging on the wooden floor. Briefly he wondered if the king would take the time from his reading to attend the meeting today.

It was the second year of Aerys’ reign, and the troubles were mounting. The Great Spring Sickness that had claimed the lives of Daeron and Valarr and Matarys had left in its wake a great drought, the like of which had never before been seen in Westeros. With the drought had come the drying of rivers and wells, and a mass exodus of the smallfolk from their lands as they sought refuge elsewhere, most had come to King’s Landing, thinking the King could provide for them. That was not the case, King’s Landing itself was deeply struggling to maintain any sense of order within the streets, there was hunger and famine in the streets, that there was no disease was simply the luck of the gods. He had ordered the stragglers away and had ordered the gates closed and yet more people still came, it would only get worse before it got better, that was a saying his mother always used to say.

Ser Willam Wylde stood in his Kingsguard armour his white cloak draped on his shoulders billowing to the floor. Ser Wylde nodded as he saw Brynden and his sworn brother approach the small council chamber and stood to the side and allowed the hand to enter. The door closed behind him, and he surveyed the chamber. Not much of it had changed since Aerys had been king, there were books and papers still strewn on the table as they had been when Daeron had been king, the only change was that the chair where the King often sat, moulded into a throne with a dragon head, was no longer present. Aerys had ordered the chair moved to his room when he had become King, Brynden sat in a chair of oak embodied with a hand on its top, as he sat he looked through the papers that were to be discussed in the day’s council meeting. As he began shifting through the papers, the door opened and in walked Grand Maester Manderly, followed closely by the Master of Ships Lord Alor Velaryon, on his coat tails came Master of Coin the heir to Casterly Rock Tybolt Lannister, and then Master of Whispers Odrick Royce and then lastly closing the doors behind him Lord Commander of Aerys Kingsguard, Ser Donnel of Duskendale. Master of Laws Prince Maekar was away gathering the royal levies to march on the Ironborn.

Brynden waited for them all to be seated before he began the session. “My lords thank you for coming. As you know we have several key issues to talk of. Lord Odrick if you could begin.”

Odrick Royce was no lord in truth, a second son of a second son he had served as part of Brynden’s Raven’s Teeth during the Blackfyre rebellion and of course had been a part of the hand’s spy network for many years before that, with a penchant for collecting secrets from those whose loyalty was still in doubt. Odrick cleared his throat. “Thank you my lord hand,” he began in his iron baritone. “Word from the city reports that there are more and more deaths each day due to hunger and the famine. The smallfolk grumble and complain.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “They complain of ill omens and such, claiming that the people are paying for the mistakes of the King and the Royal Family. “

Beside him, Lord Tybolt snorted, Lannisters did have a habit of thinking themselves above everyone even the blood royal. Brynden spoke. “Burn the bodies in the dragon pit. Have your men in the streets suss out who is talking treason and have them brought before me before the next court session.”

Odrick nodded. “Anything more?”

“Yes my lord hand. My sources in the reach report that Lord Tyrell has begun mobilising men near the Mander to deal with the Ironborn he claims, but Prince Maron has sent word that there were incursions into his land and that they bore the rose of Highgarden.”

Brynden cursed silently. It was just his luck, the Ironborn were raiding the west and the north, and Blackfyres were mobilising in the east and Lord Leo saw fit to renew age old hatred with Dorne. “Grand Maester, write to Lord Tyrell and tell him to state his intentions truly. If these men he is mobilising are truly to deal with the Ironborn then we shall let it be. However, if they are not then he is to disband them immediately, and under no circumstances are these men to enter Dorne unless the Blackfyres march on us.”

Manderly nodded his head, the man was dutiful and had been serving as Grand Maester for as long as Brynden had been in the Red Keep, he was ageing it was true but he was loyal and stuck to his vows. More than could be said of the man the Citadel were thinking of sending once Manderly’s day came.

Brynden turned his attention toward Lord Velaryon. “Will our ships be ready in time to mount an assault on Pyke should the need arise?”

“They will my lord. They await the King’s command.” Lord Velaryon stated.

“Good.” He turned now to face Lord Tybolt. Lannister bore all the signature features of his family, the golden hair and green eyes, as well as the cocksureness and arrogance of wealth. “How much coin do we have and how much will a full war with the Ironborn cost?”

Lord Tybolt looked down quickly at his notes and swallowed once before replying. “The royal treasury has enough my lord hand. A war with the Ironborn may cost between 2 to three hundred dragons, should it come to it.”

“Well let us hope that Prince Maekar can deal with Dagon Greyjoy effectively.” The hand replied.  He hoped, no, he prayed to both the old gods and the new that Maekar could deal with Dagon Greyjoy before the man took it in to his head and crowned himself King of the Iron Islands. So far the man had simply been content raiding the west, the north and the arbor, but should he learn the true extent of the weakness and uncertainty surrounding Aerys’ reign there was every possibility that he would try and secede, and that was something Brynden could not allow to happen.

Once that conversation was done, the other less important topics were brought up for discussion. Things such as taxes and whether or not in light of the drought and the famine that was slowly beginning to spread across Westeros, taxes should be lowered. Brynden allowed the lords to argue back and forth. Lannister was of course in favour of keeping taxes as they were at present, the more money he was able to bring in the more closely aligned he back with the crown, and the more loyal Casterly Rock became to Aerys’ reign. Lord Velaryon argued for raising them, his lands had not been affected by the drought, be it as they were in the Blackwater, but his daughters had been attacked in the street by beggars in King’s Landing and he wished to punish the small folk for their crimes, he also wanted tougher laws and justice in place.  Grand Maester Manderly was in favour of keeping them the same level, for no other reason than he believed it would serve no purpose to raise them unless they wished to drive the lords into the Blackfyres’ hands should Daemon die and Haegon be crowned. Lord Commander Ser Donnel remained silent throughout the discussion, and Brynden knew why, Ser Donnel came from the old school of Kingsguard, one in which the white cloaks listened and listened and only voiced an opinion when related to the royal family or those closely connected, not otherwise.

Once it was decided that taxes would remain the same, talk then turned to dealing with the beggars and brigands on the roads, it was decided that the number of gold cloaks would have to increase and that orders should be sent to each lord and noble in the kingdom to keep a strict protection over their lands who walked on them. Those men convicted of crimes such as stealing, and other offences were to be sent to the Night’s Watch.

Once that was done, the meeting was adjourned for another day, but as he watched the other members walk out Brynden asked Lord Tybolt to stay behind. He could tell that the man was nervous, many of the nobles of court were nervous around him, it had always been that way ever since he had been a child. The only ones who did not truly seem to mind him were Daeron, Shiera and Aelinor, Daeron was dead though so it was only women who trusted him, and that never looked good, especially in the eyes of a warrior like Ser Tybolt. Brynden saw the way the man looked more like a nervous cub than the proud lion he often portrayed himself as and decided to put the man at ease. “Ser Tybolt, I trust you spoke to your father about my offer?”

Tybolt swallowed nervously and replied, “Aye I did my lord.”

“And what did he say?” Brynden asked patiently.

Tybolt swallowed again. “He agreed to the match my lord.”

Brynden gave the man one of his rare smiles. “Good, so it is settled then. Princess Daenys will marry your son Lucion when she flowers.”

Tybolt nodded, though he did not seem to happy with the notion. Brynden dismissed the man, and then sat alone for a few more moments in the small council chamber thinking merely thinking. He had been in the small council for nearly a quarter of a century now, he had served as Daeron’s master of whispers before and during and after the Blackfyre rebellion. He had sat in the chair where Odrick now sat, Lord Hayford had sat where he now sat, and Baelor sat where Maekar usually sat. It seemed funny to him, the older he got, the more he thought of the past, he could now understand why Daeron had spent so much time engrossed in his books as his reign had come to an end, his brother had been trying to forget the hurtful memories of the past. Brynden could understand that, there was not a night that went by that he didn’t wake up sweating and breathing heavily for having dreamt of that day on the Redgrass field where his arrows had killed Daemon and his sons Aegon and Aemon, he knew it was the right thing to have done, otherwise Daemon may have broken through to King’s Landing before Baelor could have got there, but it still pained him and haunted him seeing Daemon’s lifeless body with an arrow- his arrow- jutting through his throat.

Brynden sighed once more, got up out of the chair, and opened the door and walked out. Ser Ronald and Ser Willam followed him, Ser Willam left them as they passed by Maegor’s holdfast, no doubt going to exchange duties with whomever it was who had the misfortune to be guarding Aerys now.  Brynden bid Ser Ronald to wait outside as he walked down toward the black cells where Daemon’s son was kept. The man was a traitor and an usurper, and yet Brynden found himself oddly fascinated by the boy, for that was what he was no matter what he claimed. The boy was more a singer than a warrior that much was certain, he looked like Daemon though- which was fitting considering he had been named after him- he was lean and lithe with shoulder length silver hair, and a silver beard that was scraggly from his time in chains. His hair was a mess too, something that made Brynden want to laugh, the first Daemon would have been horrified if his hair had been in the state that his son and namesake’s was.

He stopped before the cell, and waited for the boy to look up. When he did, Brynden heard the chains begin to clank and screech. “Come to question me more?” the boy’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “Well you’re wasting your time. I have no more to give you, and no answers.”

Brynden remained silent, in his experience the longer the silence stretched on the more people wished to fill it, and he knew this Daemon Blackfyre liked the sound of his own voice, just as much as his father had.

True enough, the boy soon spoke, and he sounded angry. “Bittersteel won’t try and break me out if that is what you’re worried about. He never did much like me. It was always Aegon and Aemon he liked, and then when they died, it was Haegon he shifted his focus to. I was  only sent here so that I could drum up support for Haegon, no more , no less.”

Brynden said nothing, but walked away and out of the black cells and back into the Red Keep. He would need to contact his spies in Tyrosh, Haegon would need to be dealt with before he became a serious threat. He was walking along back to the Tower of the Hand, Ser Roland following behind him, when Grand Maester Manderly came panting up to him, a raven scroll clutched in his hand.

Breathing heavily Manderly spoke. “My Lord Hand, a raven from Fair Isle. From Prince Maekar.”

Brynden took the outstretched letter and read it eagerly, and gave a little laugh of joy. Maekar had managed to defeat Dagon Greyjoy in single combat. His army had been smashed by the combined Lannister- Stark- Crownland army, and Dagon’s son Quinton had been slain as well. The Ironborn had surrendered. One problem was dealt with for now.


	3. The Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maekar's POV

**Maekar**

War was a tiring business. That was something Prince Maekar of House Targaryen had learnt after the Blackfyre rebellion. It was not the glorious thing that the songs made it out to be. In fact it was not a song, just as life was not. The echoes of dying soldiers crying out for their mothers, for their fathers, for family they would never ever see again had been a constant reminder of how grim war truly was to Maekar in the aftermath of the Blackfyre Rebellion.  Maekar had seen his friends die right before his eyes; he’d killed people with his mace who had once grown up with him in King’s Landing, in Summerhall and on visits to his mother’s homeland in Dorne. That war had haunted his dreams, and his waking moments for years afterwards, many a time he’d had to have been woken by Lyra, sweating and raving from some nightmarish hell. After the Blackfyre rebellion, Maekar had developed a deep hatred of all things to do with Daemon Blackfyre, including that little spec of a man who was rotting in the dungeons.

The fighting with the Greyjoy raiders could not be counted as a war as such, it was more of a skirmish. Dagon Greyjoy had thought to take advantage of their preoccupation with Tyrosh and Bittersteel, and had gone raiding along the coast of the Westerlands and along the northern coast. When news had reached Summerhall, Maekar had been worried, his son Aegon and that knight who he squired for were somewhere in the north, and were more than likely at risk of falling prey to Ironborn madness. Maekar had pushed and pushed for full action by the Iron Throne, but as had so often happened since Baelor had died- been killed, a traitorous little voice in his head whispered- he was overruled, Aerys choosing to listen to Bloodraven instead of his own brother, and deciding that the threat from the East was greater than the one being presented by the Ironborn. Maekar had been furious when his brother had made that statement, it confirmed some of his worst fears, his brother was falling under Bloodraven’s influence more and more and was losing the sense of sanity and stability that he so often had possessed before he had become king.

Eventually when news came of the Ironborn raids of Fair Isle, Stony Shore and the taking of Deepwood Motte, Maekar had decided enough was enough, and had kept pestering Aerys until his brother had eventually relented and had agreed to send some men to the north to help deal with the Ironborn. Maekar had taken command of the forces and had led them to Seagard where the combined forces of the north, the Westerlands and the Crownlands had fought the Ironborn. The Ironborn once again proved why they were only raiders at their core and not truly warriors. They were vastly disorganised and crumbled at the first sign of defeat, that being Maekar killing Dagon Greyjoy himself in single combat. Greyjoy’s heir was also slain by Maekar, the Ironborn either tried to flee and were put to the sword, or surrendered and were welcomed back into the King’s peace, but hostages were taken.

Greyjoy’s second in command Ryman Harlaw gave his son and heir twelve year old Matthew Harlaw as a ward- a hostage really- to Lord Damon Lannister, and Beron Stark took Lord Dagon’s daughter Yara as his ward, they would be kept for a period of seven years to ensure the loyalty of the Iron Islands, should they rebel once more the hostages lives would be forfeit, Maekar made sure that the Ironborn understood that. With that done, he prepared to return back to Summerhall to Lyra and their children, but before he could go back home he spoke with Aegon and Ser Duncan, he gathered that Aegon was coming along nicely as a squire and he had certainly proved himself in the battle that had been fought at Seagard, though Maekar had been slightly shocked that Ser Duncan had allowed his son to fight in the battle, but said nothing of it.  Aegon had told him that they planned on remaining in the North for a little while longer and then would more than likely head to the Westerlands or the Vale. Maekar bid his son farewell but also made him swear to be careful, and then returned home.

That had been nigh on ten years ago now, the Ironborn had stayed true their promise and had raised no more trouble. Aegon had been knighted by Ser Duncan in a tournament held in King’s Landing to celebrate Prince Brynden’s fifth nameday, and he had subsequently married his sister Rhae, a marriage of love, but one that Maekar still had reservations about, he knew what it was to marry someone who was kin, and he knew the pain that one could feel from their death. His own Lyra had been a cousin, his uncle Mors’s daughter, they had grown up together and had grown to love one another, in a more than familiar way, and so when his father had proposed the match, neither of them had objected to it. Though with her death, it felt like there was a chasm in his heart and his life that nothing- not even Aelinor- would be able to fill, and so he drifted from one day to the next, like a mindless ghost, just drifting.

Atleast that was how he had been, for recently Aerys had taken very ill and had died from what the Grand Maester called the sweating sickness. Aerys had become very, very frail during those final months, and had begun speaking in strange tongues and spurting prophecies left, right and centre. And then he had passed away in his sleep, an ending that perhaps was for the best, had it not been for the pure pain that seemed to be constantly etched across his face as he slept during that final night. Maekar knew that Aelinor and his own children had done their best to prevent Prince- no King- Brynden from seeing his father in the state that he had been in, but there was only so much that they could do. Aerys had died two moons ago, and Prince Brynden, Aerys and Aelinor’s son had become, King Brynden Targaryen first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

And two days after his coronation a raven had come from Essos, from one of Bloodraven’s many spies reporting that the Blackfyres were preparing for another assault. War would be coming to Westeros once more, the red dragon and the black dragon would be fighting once more.

 

 

 


	4. The Boy King

****

**King Brynden Targaryen**

Brynden Targaryen was bored, here he was all of ten years old King of the Seven Kingdoms and it was a nice and sunny day outside but he was stuck inside having to have lessons about his kingdom with Grand Maester Derryck. It wasn’t that he did not like having lessons; it was just that Grand Maester Derryck was such an old and boring man, who more often than not fell asleep whilst they were having lessons, that Brynden never truly learnt all that he was supposed to during his lessons. Of course he had not told his mother, or uncle Maekar or uncle Brynden, as if he told them about it, they would more than likely find some other more monotonus maester to teach him, and besides he did sort of enjoy learning from Maester Derryck after a fashion.

Today they were learning about the Dance of Dragons, of how Princess Rhaenrya had fought for her right to the Iron Throne, which she had claimed was hers by right and the will of her and her half brother Aegon’s father King Viserys I. Grand Maester Derryck was droning on. “And when King Viserys was declared dead, Queen Alicent had his rooms sealed off and had the man who had brought the news of the King’s death to her put under arrest so that he could not spread news of the king’s death. Much later a meeting of the small council was convened and the members led by the Queen’s father Ser Otto Hightower argued for Alicent’s eldest son with Viserys Aegon to become king, by rule of Andal custom. Lord Beesbury the old and ancient maester of coin argued stringently in favour of following King Viserys’ will and crowning Rhaenrya though he had little support.  Once the small council had unanimously agreed to declare Aegon as king, Ser Criston Cole was sent by Queen Alicent to the royal apartments to rouse Aegon and his wife. The next day in front of half the court of King’s Landing; Aegon was crowned king by Ser Cristan Cole, and became Aegon the second of his name.  When news reached Princess Rhaenrya and her family on Dragonstone, it is said she flew into a fierce rage and declared herself the rightful queen, and sent her sons to Storm’s End, the Vale and the North to garner their support. The Dance of Dragons had begun.”

Brynden was trying his hardest not to yawn as the maester spoke, he found the Dance of Dragons very interesting. Not so much the details of how it began, but more because of the fighting that had taken place, when his family had still had dragons. He wanted to know more about that and the dragons and yet Maester Derryck seemed reluctant to go into much depth about the Dragons or how they had lived and died. Brynden rubbed his eyes tiredly and tried to focus in more as Maester Derryck went on. “At first many of the great lords were unsure of whom to support. Did they choose to support Prince Aegon, whom by Andal custom as King Viserys first born son, was his rightful heir. Or did they support Rhaenrya who technically as King Viserys firstborn child and appointed heir, technically did have more of a claim to the Iron Throne. There was limited understanding of how to handle the matter, given that King Viserys himself had come to the throne as the eldest surviving grandchild of King Jaehaerys the wise. Eventually the lines of battle were drawn. The North led by Lord Donnel Stark declared for Princess Rhaenrya, the Vale too declared for Princess Rhaenrya by virtue of her being the niece of the then reigning lord of the Vale. Storm’s End declared for Prince Aegon, after Princess Rhaenrya’s son Jacaerys was slain by Prince Aegon’s brother Prince Aemond. The Tyrells and some of their bannermen remained neutral throughout the conflict. The Hightowers and some of their peers in the Reach of course declared for Prince Aegon, and the Westerlands were split, with Ser Tyland Lannister leading half their forces to fight for Prince Aegon, and Lord Caspian Reyne leading half the forces to fight for Princess Rhaenrya.”

Brynden’s interest had just been captured by the mentioning of the Lannisters, when his mother Queen Regent Aelinor walked into the room followed by Ser Roland Crakehall. He smiled at his mother and was happy to see his mother smile back at him, his mother had been very busy and had not had much time to spend with him as of late, what with both of Brynden’s sisters Daenys and Myriah getting married soon, and so he was very happy to see her. “Maester Derryck, I hope you can excuse the interruption. But his grace is needed now.”

Maester Derryck bowed his head and replied. “Of course your grace,” turning to look at Brynden he said “Until next time my king.”

Brynden almost bolted out of his chair and all but ran out of the room, and was about to head towards his own room, when he heard his mother laughingly shout “Not there Brynden. Come back here.” And so sighing in defeat Brynden ran back to his mother, and pantingly waited for her to explain why she had called him out of his lessons. He did not have to wait long. “The Lannisters and the Starks have been sighted within the gates of the city. Lord Brynden is escorting them to the Red Keep. I need you to go with Ser Roland and bathe and get changed into suitable attire to great our guests.” Brynden heard his mother say.

He had to repress a sigh, and instead said “Why can’t I just greet them as I am now mother? Why do I have to get changed? I’m the king am I not?”

His mother had a look of loving exasperation on her face when she replied to him. “Yes you are the king sweetling, but you must act like a king. And we can’t have these lions and wolves seeing you as little more than a boy now can we? After all you are the dragon, are you not sweetling.”

His mother began to tickle him until he laughed loudly and agreed to go and get changed. Much later he found himself sat on the Iron Throne, wearing a doublet of black and red, with the three headed dragon of House Targaryen emrboided onto it. He also wore a crown of black iron and gold, with seven sharp points on the top meant to represent swords and the seven kingdoms he ruled over. He shifted slightly on the throne to get into a more comfortable position as he waited for the Starks and the Lannisters to be announced. Standing next to him was his mother, at the foot of the steps leading up to the Iron Throne were the seven knights of the Kingsguard: Lord Commander Ser Roland Crakehall, Ser Garlan Tully, Ser Edrick Baratheon, Ser Oberyn Dayne (the sword of the morning), Ser Matthis Tyrell, Ser Richard Royce and Ser Devan Manderly. His great uncle Brynden stood in the shadows somewhere near the throne, Brynden knew, as did his uncle Maekar.

As the herald announced the members of both House Lannister and House Stark, and as they walked in front of the throne and bowed, Brynden felt his hands begin to shake slightly- it was something that the maester had attributed to nerves and the fact that he had been born a small babe- he felt his mother lean over and squeeze his hands briefly before she moved back to where she stood. Once the introductions had been made, Brynden spoke in as kingly a voice as a ten year old could manage and welcomed both houses to King’s Landing and wished them a pleasant stay in the capital for the duration of the wedding festivities.

That evening was spent feasting their guests, Brynden spent most of the time sitting on the Iron Throne watching as his guests ate and drank and were merry, all the while feeling a certain sadness for on the morrow his sisters, the only two people other than his mother that he truly, truly loved, and truly loved him back, would be going to the furthest parts of the world to solidify the kingdoms from the threats of the Blackfyres. When the time came,  Brynden’s great uncle and his namesake got up and said a few words about how with the marriages of his sister Daenys to Ser Garon Lannister- heir to the Rock- and his sister Myriah to Edwyle Stark would produce not just an alliance, but the sealing of an ancient pact made long ago during the age of Aegon the Dragon, and would once and for all strengthen Westeros and bring peace to the realm.

There were not many younger people there for Brynden to play with, and as king he could not really move from his seat on the Iron Throne as he truly wished to do, and as he usually did so during their normal dinners. No standing on guard near the throne was Lord Commander Ser Roland Crakehall and Ser Edrick Baratheon, with the other knights of the Kingsguard standing close by in the shadows, watching and observing. Brynden was growing more and more bored as the evening wore on. As he looked around the throne room, he saw Ser Garon chatting amiably with his sister Daenys, saying things that made his sister blush and giggle. Lord Edwyle on the other hand seemed to be very quiet and solemn and did not seem to be saying much to Myriah. Some man with a red lion on his surcoat was chatting amiably with Brynden’s mother, making her laugh and giggle in such a way that Brynden had only heard her laugh when she was with uncle Maekar.

Eventually the evening was brought to a close and Brynden walked to his bed escorted by Ser Garlan Tully and Ser Edrick, with his mother walking next to him. When he got into bed, his mother laid down next to him, and they sat in silence for a moment before she spoke. “You did very well today sweetling. I am so very proud of you. As your father would also be.”

Brynden felt himself swell up with pride at that comment. “Mama,” he said unsure of how to ask about what he had seen at the feast today.

“Yes sweetling?” his mother asked.

“Who was that man with the red lion on his surcoat, who was speaking to you today, and why was Uncle Maekar glowering at that man?” Brynden asked, afraid that he would cause his mother to get angry with him.

His mother merely chuckled next to him and replied. “Oh that, that was Davos Reyne Lord of Castamere, and your uncle Maekar was not glowering at him, he merely looks like that normally. Anyway my little dragon, go to sleep now, we have a big day tomorrow.”

With that his mother kissed him on the cheek and got up off the bed and walked toward the door, before she did though, she turned round. “Goodnight little dragon, sleep tight. I love you.”

Brynden replied back sleepily. “I love you too mama.”

The next day Brynden found himself in the Great Sept of Baelor as he gave away his sisters to Ser Garon Lannister and Edwyle Stark respectively. Both Lannister and Stark families remained in King’s Landing for another week, a week where politics was discussed and feasts where held, before they eventually made their way back to their respective homes. There was a tearful farewell on the day of both sisters departure from King’s Landing. Brynden tried his hardest not to cry, he was king now and could not afford to cry. But nonetheless he felt himself begin to well up when he hugged his sisters goodbye.

“Be good,” he heard both his sisters say to him at once. “Don’t cause too much trouble for mother or uncle Maekar. And write to us as often as you can, and we shall write to you as often as we can. We love you little brother.”

And with that Brynden watched his sisters ride away from King’s Landing, from the Red Keep, from their mother, from him.

The next few days were spent in lessons and learning through observation as to how to be a good king, he sat on the iron throne and listened to the people present their issues and problems to him, and with the help of both his mother, his uncle and his great uncle made judgements and decisions that he hoped would benefit his people as best as possible. A moon after his sisters were married, his uncle Maekar rode off to war to fight the Blackfyres who had invaded the Stormlands with the Golden Company, the Second Sons and the Brave Companions.

Four moons later, a raven came from Casterly Rock announcing that his sister Daenys was with child. A moon after that came the news that the Blackfyres had been defeated once again. A moon after that he turned eleven and his sister Myriah was declared with child. 


	5. Beneath The Gold, The Bittersteel

**Bittersteel**

The nightmares of Redgrass haunted him still. So many years from when the battle had actually occurred and victory had been so, so very close. He still heard the screams and the cries of the dying men, the men he had killed, as they had their lives torn from them. He remembered how confident he had been on the eve of the battle; they were winning the war, a sure sign from the gods that Daemon was meant to be king. At Redgrass they had come so very close, Lord Arryn’s van had been smashed, Daemon had killed Lord Arryn and Lord Hayford. Aegor himself had come very close to breaking Maekar’s right, but then that thrice damned Bloodraven had resorted to trickery and sorcery , and had killed Daemon and Aegon and Aemon, and the men who had fought so resolutely for Daemon began to break.

Aegor had led a fierce counter attack, cutting through the cowardly Raven’s Teeth, had fought a fierce duel with Bloodraven himself, had severly wounded the man. But victory was not to be, Baelor Breakspear had emerged from the Dornish marches with an army of Dornish spears and Stormlords who were pumped up for battle, and that combined with Maekar’s hammer had crushed the remaining men who had fought so loyally for Daemon and then Aegor. The army broke, men were killed in their thousands, and when defeat looked imminent, Aegor did the only thing he could think of that would preserve the chance of a Blackfyre victory in the future, he seized Blackfyre and rode with great haste with some of the other leading rebels and retreated back to where Daemon’s wife and other sons were, and took them across the narrow sea with him to his contacts in Tyrosh.

That had been many years ago now, and yet the bitter taste of defeat was still present in his every movement, his every waking hour. All he could see was Daemon’s lifeless body, arrows protruding from his neck, throat and face. Aegon and Aemon- his two favourite nephews- lying there unseeingly in the dust and hard plains of Redgrass Field. Such thoughts merely served to anger him further, his plots for retribution to Bloodraven, to Daeron Falseborn, only grew more and more with each passing day. Then his spies in Westeros reported that Baelor Breakspear had died, leaving his sons as heirs to the throne, Aegor began plotting anew with some remaining Black Dragon loyalists, then came the news that Daeron Falseborn and his grandchildren Valarr and Matarys had died in the sickness that had engulfed Westeros. Thus leaving Aerys as King and a babe as his heir. Aegor amped up his plotting and began making proper preparations for a new invasion of Westeros.

Daemon’s namesake, the boy who would call himself Daemon the second, was nothing like his father. Where Daemon had excelled at weaponry and had been charismatic, the second Daemon was weak and brooding, preferring his songs to swords. Aegor had despaired at ever getting the lords of Westeros to rise for this Daemon, but he had to try, he had a promise to keep after all. And so he sent Daemon with Gormon Peake to try and drum up support for the Blackfyre cause. The boy failed, he failed to impress the martial lords who attended the tourney of whitewalls, he had himself captured by Bloodraven, years of planning undone in mere hours, simply because the boy could not fight or lift a sword to save himself.  Aegor had cursed violently when he had heard of the boy’s arrest, the fact that Bloodraven had not had the boy executed was frustrating enough. He could not crown Haegon, not with Daemon still alive, and rotting in the black cells of the Red Keep.

The boy had died in the black cells a few months before Aerys had, of a wasting sickness apparently. Aegor had laughed with delight upon hearing the news of the boy’s death, though his mother had wept with sadness. Haegon had been a warrior since he could hold a mace, he fought well, had proven himself a fierce warrior in battle with the Golden Company, and had proven himself a good leader of men. And so their rebellion was plotted once more, the boy king on the Iron Throne was crowned and two months later, Aegor mobilised the Golden Company and brought with it the Second Sons and the Brave Companions.

And so after months of preparation here they were landing on the shores of Cape Wrath with their men and elephants ready for a battle. Aegor knew that the Iron Throne would not be caught out by their invasion, he knew that Bloodraven had spies in Tyrosh, likely had spies within the Golden Company, but it did not matter they had more numbers now than they had had in the past, the realm itself was tired and weakening after the Ironborn raids, a boy sat the iron throne, yes now was the right time to fight and invade.

And so they fought, 10,000 men of the Golden Company plus some 500 men from the Second Sons and whatever houses in Westeros were still loyal to the Black Dragon, fought against the Targaryen pretenders. Aegor drew his sword and hacked and slashed like a man possessed, cutting down all who got in his way. He slashed and ducked, and dodged and weaved, and cut down more and more men. Watching with grim satisfaction as his sword became more and more red, coated with the blood of the enemy.

He continued slashing and hacking his way through the Targaryen army, making sure to keep a close eye on Haegon, he was glad to see Haegon keeping his own, swinging his mace in a manner that was strangely similar to Maekar. Aegor swung his sword across the face of a man with the silver seahorse of House Velayron, he watched as the man‘s face was cleaved in two and blood began to spurt out of his face. Aegor rode on, swinging and hacking as he went, drenching the ground in more and more blood.

As he rode, Aegor heard the sounds of more and more men dying and screaming out in agony. Blood coated the ground, and the cries of the dying echoed throughout the sky and the clouds seemed to darken as the seven drank greedily from the feast that was being made for them. He tried desperately to put the memories of Redgrass from his mind, but was not successful and so missed a blow to his horse that killed the old steed and sent him falling to the ground- thankfully away from the falling horse- Aegor looked up and found himself staring at his nephew Prince Maekar. Maekar had not changed too much in the intervening years between Redgrass and now, he still seemed perpetually angry and had the same pox marked scars on his face, though there was a much more hardened look in his eyes.

Aegor struggled up to his feet and raised his sword, just as Maekar dismounted from his own horse and moved toward Aegor, with his mace drawn. They swung at the same time, the clanging of mace on sword rang loudly in Aegor’s ears, and for now the surrounding fights were blocked from his mind, now there was only him and Maekar, and survival was the only target on both men’s minds. They kept themselves locked in a fierce game of strength and will, with neither man being willing to pull their weapons away, sparks began to fly the longer they kept their weapons pressed together, and both men were beginning to physically strain under the effort.

Eventually both men broke apart, both tired from the stain of the previous fight- they were no longer the young men they had been during Redgrass after all- then Maekar swung his mace at Aegor’s head, Aegor just about managed to bring his sword up in time to block the blow, though the impact of the mace hitting his sword caused his shoulder to jar, making him wince in pain. Maekar kept hammering his mace at Aegor, causing Aegor’s sword to begin to dent inwards, and for Aegor to feel his strength beginning to wane.

Though Maekar could not keep up the assault for long, and when he pulled away to catch his breath, Aegor pounced. Attacking his nephew with a series of fast and constant slashes and hacks, some of which Maekar managed to block with his mace, some of which he didn’t. Those that he did not manage to block managed to cut and dent his armour, and at one point even managed to cause blood to trickle out from a few of the dents.

Aegor pulled back once he was tired from the assault, and Maekar then resumed his own assault. Swinging his mace rapidly, at Aegor’s face, his body, his arms, his hands any part that Maekar could get his mace to, it seemed to Aegor that he would try and hit. Aegor felt himself beginning to tire out, felt the blood begin to flow out from his armour, from cuts and dents to his armour in a thousand different places. He knew he was going to die, but he was determined to die with a sword in his hand, and as a warrior.

He blocked Maekar’s next mace swing, and with a great effort managed to push his nephew away from him. He then began swinging and hacking at Maekar, with no particular care as to where his sword strokes landed, he kept swinging and hacking, and slashing until he no longer had the strength to. When he moved back a few paces, he was happy to see several fresh bruises on Maekar’s body, he was happy to see the blood beginning to fall out in droves from his nephew.

Maekar swung his mace once more, and this time Aegor could not get his sword in the way to block the blow. Maekar ended up hitting him in the stomach, winding him and causing him to fall to the ground, blood began pouring out of his mouth. He tried to raise his sword, but Maekar knocked it down and out of his hands, he heard the sword clang to the dirt below, the clanging of steel on ground lost amongst the chaos of battle. Aegor then saw his nephew raise his sword high into the air, and closed his eyes to say a quick prayer to the seven before he felt the mace connect with his skull.

Aegor ‘Bittersteel’ Rivers, at the age of nine and forty was killed in the Battle of Cape Wrath, during the third Blackfyre Rebellion, by his nephew Prince Maekar Targaryen. Dealt a mace blow to the skull, his death was instant. The third Blackfyre rebellion ended with Haegon Blackfyre being slain by Prince Aegon Targaryen in single combat. The realm had peace once more, at least for the time being.....

 


	6. The Forgotten Queen

**Aelinor**

Winter had come to Westeros; the Starks were always right in the end. One Blackfyre rebellion had been put down, thus securing the Targaryen and her son’s hold of the Iron Throne for the time being. How long the peace would last, Aelinor did not know. Her son was but a child, though he was quickly growing into a fine young man that was not what worried her though. Maekar and her son’s namesake were both ageing rapidly, they had just celebrated Maekar’s fiftieth nameday, and her brother was showing the signs of old age just as clearly as their father had been when he too had reached that age and yet there was still so much to do.

Her son needed guidance in the ways of ruling, he was but a boy still though he had seen three and ten name days, he was as old as Daemon had been when he had married the Strickland girl, Aelinor knew that, yet she could not help but want to shield him from the harsher realities of the world, that would one day demand his attention as King of all the Seven Kingdoms. And for that to happen she needed Maekar to be around, her brother seemed to be the only other person that could completely control Brynden, her son was active and boisterous like all thirteen year old boys were wont to be, but as he was also King of Westeros, more people were likely to let his lapses go undisciplined, which would only lead to bad things to happen further on down the line. Aelinor of course knew she could be strict if she needed to be, but of course she was not always around to provide the discipline her son needed, given that she was often quite busy with the small council, and Maekar himself was busy as master of laws on her son’s small council. This had consequently meant that it had fallen to Egg to provide some sort of guidance for her son.

Just as her thoughts began to drift away from her son and her concerns for him, Maekar walked in, looking tired and bedraggled. He huffed as he sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. “Honestly, you would think that with winter here those god forsaken Lannisters would be happy with what we have given them.”

Aelinor arched an eyebrow at her brother, and waited for him to reply. “They want more leeway to go trading across the narrow sea. Lannister says that it will allow him to source out where that blasted Blackfyre and his brothers are. Personally I do not believe it for one second.” Maekar said tiredly.

“And why is that Maekar?” Aelinor asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“Because Lannister is still angry from the time when father had to keep him and his godforsaken brother hostage to ensure that their father didn’t rebel with Blackfyre. He wants us to let him go and sail across the narrow sea so that he can give men to the Blackfyres and the Golden Company. I won’t allow it.” Maekar said.

Though she had suspected that there would still be some sort of lingering resentment amongst the Lannisters for the actions- necessary as they had been- that her and Maekar’s father had taken during the Blackfyre rebellion, she did not expect Tybolt Lannister to still seriously wish to side with the Blackfyres, whichever one was sent to haunt Westeros once more. And so she voiced these thoughts. “Is Lord Tybolt not happy with his heir’s marriage to Daenys? I would have thought the lion would have been happy with the news that his son and good daughter have had two children since their marriage begun.”

Maekar sighed, “He is happy alright. But of course you know these Lannisters; they always want more and more. And Bloodraven’s spies have reported that this new Blackfyre, what was his name, Maegon? Has offered his son’s hand in marriage to whoever gives him the most support. The Lannisters want their daughter as a queen, we did not give them Brynden, we gave them a Princess and a tie to the royal family true, but not the claim they want. Lannister wants to be grandfather to a king, and we did not give him that. Maegon will.”

“And what will the small council do about this?” Aelinor asked, fear beginning to pile up inside of her, they had only just crushed one Blackfyre rebellion; would another one come up so soon?

Maekar sighed once more. “Nothing, the rest of the small council do not have these suspicions. Only I and Bloodraven do. It will be a long time before the Blackfyres can mobilise their troops again to plan another invasion, and with Bittersteel and Haegon dead, I do severly doubt whether or not they will actually try again.”

Nodding, Aelinor decided to move the conversation onto another topic. “How are Egg and Rhae doing then brother, is their child well?”

She saw Maekar’s eyes light up as they always did at the mention of his grandchildren. “Egg and Rhae are doing well, they left for Summerhall this morning, Duncan has become a terror for them, the boy keeps running around like a madman, he reminds me so much of Baelor,” her brother trailed away then, getting the faraway look he often go when he spoke of their eldest brother, but he soon came back. “Jaehaerys is doing well, he is much better now than when he was last time they were in King’s Landing.”

She noticed, as she often did that Maekar had deigned not speak of Daeron’s daughter, nor of the children that Aerion had sired in his time in exile. The children who could very well be the cause of yet another civil war should they ever turn their eyes toward Westeros.

Maekar spoke once again. “There will be a tournament to celebrate your boy’s fourteenth nameday in a few moons time. All the lords of the realm have been invited as have, all the knights and their other people. It will be in King’s Landing and your boy wishes to compete in it.”

Aelinor said nothing for a moment, thinking over what her brother had said, she knew that Brynden was getting to the age where he would wish to compete and show off his martial prowess, though he would hopefully never have to fight in an actual war. But still there was something about Tourneys that had never quite sat so well with her after the Tourney at Ashford. “Do you think he is ready to compete? She asked her brother.

Maekar took a long moment to reply and when he did, he gave her the answer she knew he would though she still dreaded it all the same. “He will never be ready unless he tries Aelinor. Practice makes perfect, and your son is king, he will need to prove himself, especially with those accursed Blackfyres still across the narrow sea.”

Aelinor nodded then, and they sat in silence for a moment more, before Maekar got up to leave, before he did, Aelinor grabbed his hand, and squeezed it. “Thank you Maekar, thank you for everything.” She said. Maekar said nothing he merely nodded though he did squeeze her hand back.

The next few months were spent discussing the state of the kingdoms, trying to repair Westeros after yet another failed Blackfyre invasion. Dealing with the increasing concerns of Maekar and Bloodraven that Tybolt Lannister may betray them at any moment, as well as helping to prepare for Daella’s second wedding. Her niece had been married to Rodrick Baratheon, but the man had died during the third Blackfyre rebellion, leaving her niece a widow with no children, and so she had decided to marry Lord Arel Dayne, Lord of Starfall and nephew to Ser Oberyn Dayne of the Kingsguard, theirs was a marriage for love as well as for convenience and it seemed that Lord Arel made Daella quite happy, and so there could be no complaints there.

Eventually the day of the tournament to celebrate her son’s fourteenth name day arrived and with it came the splendour of King’s Landing in full, along with the tourney came the pretty much all the nobles from Westeros, with the exception of Myriah and her Stark husband, given that Myriah was with child again and their daughter was too young to travel without her mother. There was to be a jousting competition, as well as a melee and archery competition, as well as a competition amongst the squires (which she had learnt from Maekar, Brynden would be taking part in.)

The first competition to be held was the archery competition, and after several hours of watching both men and women alike fire arrows at targets, both moving and stationery a winner was declared in Ser Edmyn Tully of Riverrun, brother to Ser Garlan. The next day the melee was held, and the competition seemed to go on for days not hours, she saw how enraptured Brynden was with the whole spectacle, and had to remind herself several times that her son was only fourteen he was not yet a man grown, and had yet to experience the horrors of life, hopefully he never would have to.

Then came the melee of squires, and her son, the King of the Seven Kingdoms walked out to a deafening cheer from the gathered crowd, dressed in black and red armour, the three headed dragon of their house embedded proudly on his chest plate, wearing a dragon shaped helm, with his sword in hand. After the death of Ser Roland Crakehall during the last rebellion, Ser Edrick had been named Lord Commander, and it was he who announced the beginning of the melee. Aelinor watched with baited breath as her son and the combatants he would face strode forward, each with their own weapons in hand.

She nearly cried out, when she saw a boy with the Two Towers of House Frey swing his sword straight for her son’s head, but Brynden was quicker than he appeared and raised his sword up to block the other boy’s swing. The two boys duelled for what seemed a long time to Aelinor, as she watched her son swing and hack at the other boy, beating him back, and beating him with his sword, though the Frey was twice as big as her own son, still her Brynden held his own, enough that when he had eventually knocked the Frey squire to the ground enough times, Ser Edrick eventually declared the Frey out of the melee. The next foe her son faced, was from House Reyne. A tall lad with a big broad build, the lad swung his hammer fiercely at her son, and she gasped when she saw that he had hit Brynden, knocking him to the ground however, briefly. Her son got back up on his feet, and the two engaged in yet another duel. Swinging and missing, dodging and ducking, Aelinor’s heart was in her mouth throughout the whole event, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding, when she saw Brynden knock the Reyne boy down to the ground and heard Ser Edrick declare the boy out of the melee. The other competitors had either been knocked out or too badly injured to fight on, all except for one boy, who bore the sun and spear of House Martell. This lad was most likely Aelinor’s Aunt Daenaerys’ grandson, if she remembered correctly, he was a few years older than Brynden and it showed.

He beat Brynden back many a time, he dented her son’s armour many a time, he knocked her son to the ground many a time, and still Brynden kept getting up and fighting even though it looked like he was severly overmatched. The worry must have been clear on her face for Maekar leaned over and whispered to her “He is doing well Aelinor, do not fear yet.”

It seemed her brother’s words had some sort of prophetic quality to them for, as soon as he leaned back into his own seat, Brynden began a fierce counter attack of his Dornish cousin, slashing and stabbing and jabbing, he drove his Dornish cousin onto the back foot and eventually made the boy surrender. Thus making Brynden the winner of the competition. The crowd cheered loudly, as their king was named the winner, and when Brynden took of his helmet, and Aelinor saw his sweat covered head look toward her, she felt such pride for her little boy, it was almost too much for her.

Brynden helped his cousin up and walked toward the royal box where she was sitting with Maekar and Bloodraven. He nodded toward them and then took something from one of the servants who stood at the front of the stand, and in a deep voice said. “Mother, if you could come down to the front of the stand please.” Curious as to what her son was going to say to her she did so. Brynden then leaned forward and placed a crown of roses on top of her head, and said in a loud voice for all to hear, “I would name my mother Queen Regent Aelinor as the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The cheers of the crowd still echoed in her head the next day as she sat next to her son and watched as all those who competed in the joust including three knights of the Kingsguard fell to Arel Dayne, and then when Arel crowned Daella as Queen of love and beauty, she smiled at her niece and the obvious love she felt for Lord Dayne.

Once the tournament ended, life went on as normal in King’s Landing, there was still work  to be done, Westeros needed to be made whole again, after the effects of three Blackfyre Rebellions, the Great Spring Sickness and the drought that had followed it. Winter had given way to spring now, a short winter it had been, but still there was work to be done, including discussions of whom her son should marry. As Brynden was now approaching manhood the discussions became ever more important and her son began to attend council meetings more regularly.

It was during one such council meeting that the question of marrying Brynden to one of Lord Arryn’s daughters came up. It was Bloodraven who brought it up first. “Your Grace, my lords,” he said. “As we are currently tied to two of the Great Houses, one in the west, one in the north, would it not be prudent to also tie ourselves to the East as well?”

There were mutterings of consent from the various nobles, Brynden remained silent waiting for his namesake to go on. “The Arryns have always been steadfastly loyal to the Iron Throne, and is it not time that they be rewarded for their loyalty with a marriage?”

Again there were more mutterings of consent, Aelinor remained silent, but Brynden did not. “And when would you propose I marry this daughter of Lord Arryn’s, Lord Brynden?”

Aelinor watched as Bloodraven turned his eye onto her son, and felt herself shudder internally, there was something about Bloodraven that unnerved her, even after all these years, and there was a sense of foreboding when she heard him reply. “Why, when you turn sixteen Your Grace. It would not do, to wed a daughter of Lord Jonor Arryn to a minor now would it?”


	7. Kill The Boy And Let The Man Be Born

**Brynden**

It had been two years since the Tourney for his fourteenth nameday, two years in which winter had finally arrived and kept Westeros in its deep embrace, two years in which Brynden had grown from being a gangly boy, to a strong and muscular man. He was to be meeting with his betrothed- one Rowena Arryn- today. It would be the first time the two of them were to meet and Brynden- he who was usually quite confident and sure of himself- found that he was very, very nervous. He knew how important it would be that he made a good impression on his betrothed, when he had been younger he had often wondered why his mother had never seemed to be truly happy with his father, but as he had gotten older he had come to better understand. His father had been a very clever and bookish man, but had not truly paid attention to his mother, and as a result his mother had become quite bitter about it. Brynden knew for a fact that he did not wish to be like his father, he wanted to be able to discuss the most intimate of things with his betrothed, after all she would be his wife for the remainder of their days, and he now knew the importance of having someone to confide in.

“You’re doing it again.” Brynden heard his mother chide.

He turned round and looked at her, confusion etched on his face. “Whenever you get nervous, you keep playing with your hands. Don’t worry sweetling you’ll be fine.” His mother said reassuringly.

Normally he would make a face at his mother, for calling him sweetling, but just now he could with all the reassurance and endearments he could get. He could never understand why, but whenever he had to talk to a girl who was not family, he always became so very, very nervous. Raising his head up, he spoke. “Very well then, I shall try and refrain from doing that. Thank you lady mother.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother trying to repress a smile. He could also tell that Ser Garlan Tully was also trying to repress a smile, ignoring them he called out in his most kingly voice. “Ser Devan bring in Lady Rowena and her family please.” He saw Ser Devan Manderly bow his head and then move to open the doors, as the doors opened and the Arryns walked into the throne room, Brynden felt his breath catch as he looked at his betrothed. She was stunning, as few years younger than him perhaps, but truly stunning, she was tall with long curly brown hair, piercing green eyes and a smile that seemed to belie a hundred promises. He had never seen someone so beautiful.

As the Arryns got to the steps of the throne, they stopped and bowed and curtseyed, but Brynden only had eyes for his betrothed. Once all the customary greetings had been done, Brynden gave the rest of the Arryns leave to speak with his mother, his hand or his uncle, and stepped down from the throne, and asked his betrothed to walk with him. Fitting her arm to his hand, they walked out of the throne room, Ser Edrick and Ser Garlan, two white shadows behind them, trailing at a respectful distance.

As they walked through the Red Keep, both of them were silent for a time, as Brynden tried to figure exactly what he was supposed to say. He had seen his cousin Egg talk with girls with little to no problem, but he himself had never truly learnt how to start a proper and decent conversation with a girl, without making himself feel like they were just trying to flatter him. Luckily for him, his betrothed seemed to have no such qualms for she was the one who broke the silence. “The Red Keep truly is lovely Your Grace.”

Brynden replied. “Truly? And please its Brynden, my lady.”

They stopped beside one of the windows looked out onto the city, his city, and he heard his betrothed speak once more. “Yes truly Your Grace, the Red Keep though it may not be as big as some of the castles truly is a beautiful castle; it has some features that truly resonate with me, as does King’s Landing. And if I am to call you by your name, then I insist that you do the same for me... Brynden.”

Brynden could not help the smile that broke out across his face then, he knew then that the both of them would get along just fine. “And what is it about King’s Landing that makes it so appealing to you my lady?”

“Well, the hustle and the bustle of the streets, the liveliness of the whole place just seems so invigorating to me. Much more so than the Eyrie or the Vale.” Rowena replied.

After that they moved from the window ledge, and walked some more through the Red Keep, talking and joking about various things. Brynden told her some more about King’s Landing and the court, whilst Rowena filled him in on what her life had been like at the Vale. Eventually they parted ways, for both of them had their own things to attend to before the feast that night.

The feast that night seemed to go well. The Arryns seemed to be having a good time, and Brynden became more and more enraptured with his betrothed, hanging of her every word, and laughing at her jokes. If he thought himself enraptured, he surely thought that she too must have become more enraptured with him too, though he would not voice these thoughts aloud for fear of sounding pretentious.

The Arryns stayed in King’s Landing for just over a month, in which time Brynden got to learn slightly more about the Warden of the East and his family. Jasper Arryn, was a proud man, who liked the sound of his own voice, though when he spoke, Brynden tended to listen, for what the man said seemed to make much sense to the king’s young ears. He listened most intently to the man’s stories of his uncle Baelor, how mighty a warrior his uncle had been, how skilled a diplomat the man had also been. Brynden had once tried to ask his mother and his uncle Maekar, about his uncle Baelor, but both of them had become very sad, and he had never asked since. Lord Jasper’s wife was a kind and courteous lady, though she seemed to be quite quiet never saying much unless Brynden’s mother spoke with her. Rowena’s younger siblings were too young to truly be of much interest to Brynden; Jon Arryn the heir to the Vale was but a young baby.

The time he spent with Rowena though, was time he truly cherished. In the month since he had met her, he had quickly realised that his betrothed was a smart, and funny lady, who made him more comfortable with himself and around her. For though Brynden was normally quite confident in himself, there were times where it all became too much, the thought of being king, truly wore on him. But when he was with Rowena, such concerns did not seem to matter; they seemed minimal in comparison to making Rowena laugh and smile. The first time they kissed was at the feast held for his sixteenth nameday, the day that signalled that he was officially a man and could be properly coronated.  They had gone for a walk out in the grounds of the Red Keep, Ser Edrick and Ser Oberyn walking behind them, when Brynden had had a sudden urge to kiss her, pulling her away from the main path, he led her to a grove where the apples grew, where he had walked with his mother when he was but a babe, and pushing her against one of the walls the leant over her and whispered in her ear. “I’ve been dying to kiss you since I saw you enter the hall this evening, Rowena.”

“As have I... Brynden.” He heard her pant back, as ever the sound of her saying his name sent thrills shooting through him.

Leaning in closer so that both their foreheads were touching, he said. “I don’t think I can last much longer, without kissing you.”

“So do it then.”

And do it he did, he leant in and kissed her full on the mouth, and she kissed him back. They kissed for what seemed like an age, their tongues fighting each other in their mouths, and when they pulled apart they were both gasping for air, though they kissed again and again, each time better than the last until, they heard footsteps approaching, and they quickly pulled apart, but before they did Brynden heard Rowena whisper “Happy nameday Your Grace.”

The next day was his coronation. He was dressed in a doublet of red and black, with a three red headed dragon clasping his cloak. As he kneeled in front of the High Septon, on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, and swore his oaths, to protect the people of all faiths and creed, from wrongdoing and injustice. To defend the seven, the old gods, the drowned god from those who would wrong them. To ensure that justice was served to the best of his ability and to rule wisely for as long as he could, he felt a sense of duty envelop him. As the High Septon put the crown on his head, and bid him rise, Brynden knew that there was no turning back now, he was no longer a boy, it was time to kill the boy and let the man be born.

* * *

 

Small council meetings, Brynden had quickly learnt were some of the most boring things known to mankind. They were a place for the lords of his small council to puff out their chests and speak and speak and speak, as if they feared that if they did not continuously speak about monotonus things like finance- though he knew it was important- then they would lost the ability to speak all together.

One of the worst people on his small council Brynden thought was the Master of Coin, Tybolt Lannister. The man had served on his father’s small council as master of coin as well, and his son and heir was married to Brynden’s sister Daenys, and yet the man never seemed to shut up, nor did he seem to think that he had got his just desert in life. It was something that Brynden could not fathom. He knew the Lannisters were a rich and powerful family, second only to Brynden’s own family, and yet the man never seemed to be content with his lot, it was almost as if he thought life had cheated him of some elusive goal.

His uncle Maekar, seemed to share Brynden’s view on the man, if the number of times that Brynden had seen his uncle grit his teeth to hold back some scathing comment was anything to go by. Though of course his uncle said nothing to reprimand or keep Lord Tybolt in line, for though Brynden was loath to admit it, they did need the Lannisters and their gold, if they were to have any hope of quashing the Blackfyres before they tried to invade again.

Brynden’s namesake, otherwise known as Bloodraven continued to serve as hand, though as he was getting older, the man seemed to be less of a presence than he had supposedly been during Brynden’s father and grandfather’s reigns. He had even asked Brynden if he could resign and head north for the Night’s Watch, something that Brynden had been reluctant to allow, the man may be getting old, but his services were still needed in the south, for now.

The other members of the small council, excluding Lord Commander Ser Edrick, were all, as far as Brynden was concerned a bunch of old women.  Afraid to make changes to the status quo, Brynden had had to argue fiercely for changes to be brought to the systems of ship building and raising men, he knew that the Blackfyres were building war galleys, and that the Golden Company had war elephants. He had argued fiercely for the Royal Fleet to be expanded, they needed bigger and quicker ships which could fire off powder that could deal with enemy ships without having to have men die needlessly mounting the other ship. The Master of Ships, Rodrik Greyjoy- Dagon’s son- had scoffed at the notion, until Brynden had told him that unless he wished to have his head grace a spike on the Red Keep he would look into the matter.

And now they had received word from one of Bloodraven’s sources across the narrow sea, that the Blackfyres were planning another assault, and discussion was fierce over what their next move should be. As usual Lord Tybolt seemed to wish to wait. “ The Blackfyres have tried three times to take the Iron Throne from its rightful owners, and three times they have failed. What is there to say this attempt will be any different?

“The fact that they are arming more and more men, this Maegon Blackfyre will be bringing with him not just the Golden Company, but the Second Sons, the Brave Companions and even the armies of Pentos with him.” Brynden heard his namesake reply.

He heard Tybolt Lannister snort in derision. “And did Bittersteel not bring the second sons with him the last time the Blackfyres tried to invade? And did Prince Maekar not crush that rebellion alongside Prince Aegon and Ser Duncan? What is there to say this invasion will be any more successful?”

“The fact that half of Dorne will also be rallying behind this Maegon Blackfyre. The Yronwoods have managed to get some powerful houses to agree to fight behind the black dragon. Should they invade, we shall have no support from Dorne.” Bloodraven answered.

Brynden was glad to see the smug smile rubbed off of Tybolt Lannister’s face even if he himself felt nerves begin to flutter in his stomach at the mention of the rebellion in Dorne.  “What would you suggest we do, the Lord Brynden?” Brynden asked.

His great uncle turned his eye toward him, and gave him a piercing look. “With your permission Your Grace, I would have my spies in the Golden Company whisper in the pretender’s ear that should he land in the Dornish Marches, we will be caught unawares, and that he will have time to link up with his Dornish allies.”

Brynden remained silent for a moment, debating the possibilities, before saying. “Very well then, but I want there to be full proof backups just in case, Mors cannot hold off the rebels. There will need to be men ready to march as soon as we hear that the fools have landed. Grand Maester Derryck, I want you to send ravens to all corners of the kingdoms. Since Lord Tybolt and Lord Rodrick are already here, you will know that as soon as the ravens come, banners will be called. I want your men and the men of every other Lord Paramount ready to march the minute the ravens arrive in your castles. I want these Blackfyres done for, and I want them done for good.”

* * *

 

The preparations for the inevitable Blackfyre invasion, soon took a back seat, as the plans were made for Brynden’s wedding to Rowena Arryn. Since Rowena had left King’s Landing, the two of them had kept in touch via raven, and Brynden could firmly say, that he felt as if he had known his betrothed his whole life. What was good was that his mother seemed to be quite taken with her as well, and that was important to him, for his mother was the only person Brynden had ever truly loved and cared about along with his sisters, and her acceptance of his bride to be was crucial.

He had noticed that both his mother and his uncle Maekar, seemed to be much happier as of late than they had been in years past, and he was curious to find out what had caused that. Though if they way they looked at each other was any indication, then he should have no trouble truly finding out what was going on between them. Not that he was truly bothered, so long as his mother was happy, and his uncle Maekar did nothing to make her unhappy, then Brynden would be fine, should, something go wrong though...

Eventually the day of his wedding dawned bright and early, Brynden soon found himself walking toward the Great Sept of Baelor, the crows that had been gathering for days cheering loudly as he passed them by. He was followed closely by his mother, his uncle Maekar, Bloodraven, his cousins and his sisters and their husbands and children. He entered the Sept and felt his heart rate begin to speed up, this was yet another step of becoming a man, yet another step to finally wedding his betrothed, he had waited for so long.

When Rowena entered the Sept on her father’s arm, Brynden felt his breath catch, just as it had done all those months ago when he had seen her for the first time. She looked stunning in a dress of blue and grey, her hair worn loose around her shoulders, he could see the curls that he so loved clearly, and he felt his heart begin to pound quicker. He could not stop looking at her, even as they said their vows to each other, and it was a relief when the High Septon announced that he could kiss her. He kissed her long and deep, and felt happy and content.

At the wedding feast they talked and laughed and danced, and Brynden could not take his eyes of off her. They danced and danced, and when the men in the hall called for the bedding, Brynden gave his wife’s hand a quick squeeze, before they began the journey that would confirm them officially as man and wife.

Brynden did not see the servant who came into the hall to speak with Bloodraven and Maekar, if he had, he would have seen the letter that was shown to both men, with the Three Headed Dragon on it. War was approaching, and this time Brynden would be needed to fight for his throne.


	8. Dragons Fight, People Die

**Maekar**

Winter had engulfed Westeros, winter had engulfed the kingdoms, and winter was beginning to engulf Maekar. Yet another war was about to be fought, yet another fight between the red and black dragon, for a cause that as far as Maekar was concerned had died on the Redgrass Field when Daemon had fallen. The Black dragons had lost Bittersteel some time ago, and yet still they pushed and insisted on bringing Westeros to its knees once more, still they insisted on making the country that they would claim bleed, they would take fathers and husbands and sons and uncles and nephews from their families, to fight and die for something that should have ended years ago. It was enough to make Maekar angry, enough to drive him to pick up his mace and fight alongside his son and nephew, to make sure that his family and the country that they ruled would have peace. They had to have peace now, Maekar was growing too old now to fight anymore.

Maekar looked to his right, and saw his nephew King Brynden sat on his black stallion, his black armour glinting in the sunlight, and for a brief moment Maekar thought he was looking at what people said Daeron the Young Dragon had looked like. Maekar shook his head to remove such thoughts from his head, his nephew was young, had only just reached his sixteenth nameday, had only just married, his nephew could not die, not now not for a long time, otherwise the fighting would continue to engulf Westeros until the realm could bleed no more. No in Brynden, Maekar saw the hope and future of the kingdoms, he knew that his son Aegon saw the future in Brynden as well, it was a tough burden for such a young man to bear, but it was true, Brynden was a more than capable fighter, and he had the chance to become a great king, he just needed to survive this fight.

As if sensing that he being observed, Maekar saw his nephew turn his head and smile at him, it was such a cheeky smile, reminiscent of smiles that Rhaegal used to smile before the madness took him. “Are you well uncle?” Brynden asked.

Maekar smiled at his nephew to hide the unease he was feeling and said. “Yes Your Grace, I am well. I was only thinking that is all.”

Maekar saw his nephew make a face at being referred to by his title, he knew that his nephew would prefer it if his family only called him Brynden, but of course, Maekar had been raised to call his family by their given titles in public, even if he was more than familiar with them- something that had deeply pained him, when Aerys and Aelinor had become King and Queen- and so whether his nephew liked it or not, he would give him the title and the respect he was due.

“Ah, how much longer do you think it will take to get to the Marches uncle?” Brynden asked.

Maekar thought about this for a moment, the raven had come the day of his nephew’s wedding telling them that the pretender had landed in the marches, with the Golden Company, the Second Sons, some barbarians called the Brave Companions and of course the armies of Pentos. Dorne was divided, Lord Yronwood had mustered half of the Dornish spearmen against Mors Martell the heir to the Princedom of Dorne, and they were currently engaged in a bloody civil war. The marches were in between the Reach, the Stormlands and Dorne, and had been the site of many a bloody battle in years past. “Well we past Harvest Hall not two days ago, we should be at the sight within another day or so.”

Maekar saw his nephew nod, the rest of the journey past in silence, until they did eventually reach the marches and the sight where they were to make camp, the pretender and his men were camped near the Boneway, the Black Dragon banner could be seen flying high in the air, even from where the Targaryen forces were camped. Snow covered the ground, and Maekar knew that it would be difficult to mount a full on assault of the enemy with the snow and the likelihood of ice. He did wonder how the pretender intended to use the elephants that the Golden Company supposedly had, or if they had even bothered to bring them- Bloodraven’s spies had not been able to deduce that much- elephants would more than likely be a burden for the pretender if he engaged them in full battle, something which could prove useful for Brynden.

A war council was called the day after they had arrived. Maekar, Aegon, Brynden, Lord Tybolt Lannister- a man whose loyalty to the crown Maekar severly doubted- Jasper Arryn, Lord Robar Baratheon, Lord Edwyn Tully, Lord Mathis Tyrell, Lord Edwyle Stark (Brynden’s goodbrother) were all in attendance at this war council- Bloodraven had been left behind to hold the capital and run the kingdoms with Brynden leading the army-. Discussion went long into the night, over what the best approach should be to dealing with the pretender and his army. Lannister was all for going straight to the offensive. “Maegon Blackfyre has grown up in Essos, there has not been a drop of snow in Essos since before the Conqueror landed in Westeros. What will this boy know of fighting in the snow? What will his commanders know of fighting in the snow? I tell you the fool has brought elephants with him; we should attack right away and cause chaos amongst their ranks.”

It seemed that Mathis Tyrell agreed with him, for the man said “Yes, Blackfyre does not know the marches like we do. His advisors have clearly given him the wrong advice, the fact that he has brought elephants with him during winter proves this. Your Grace, I say we attack now.”

Maekar turned and looked at his nephew, who seemed to be assessing the value of Lord Tyrell and Lord Lannister’s words. Attacking now would be foolish, it would cost them needlessly, if there was one thing that Maekar had learnt of the Blackfyres it was that they were not patient people, Daemon had certainly not been. What was there to say that his son was also not? As if hearing his thoughts, Maekar heard his nephew say. “That maybe true my lords of Lannister and Tyrell, but what of our men? We have not had to fight a war in winter for some time also. Say I decided to listen to your suggestion, and march my men today or tomorrow, what is there to say we would not fall to our graves much the same as the pretender’s would? What is there to say that our men will fall in greater numbers than theirs? No, Lord Baratheon, you have been at the Marches for longer than us, what can you tell us of these other sellswords that the pretender has brought with him? The Brave Companions?”

Maekar was impressed with his nephew, the fact that he had at sixteen been able to dismiss the suggestions of two of the most powerful lords in the kingdom, without insulting them, was no small feat, and it once again reminded Maekar of Baelor. He just hoped his nephew would be able to live a much longer life than his brother had.

Lord Robar Baratheon, a big, broad shouldered man who wielded a hammer like a man wielded a sword, spoke in a gruff tone. “The Brave Companions? More like the Bloody Murmurs. Ha, they are a fierce some bunch that is to be sure, led by some big burly Dothraki savage. The Pretender has allowed them to go pillaging around the lands bordering the marches, but other than that there is nothing more to say.”

Maekar saw his nephew nod. “Very well, we shall wait until sunrise in two days time. If the pretender still has not given any sign of his intentions, we shall attack.” Brynden said.

With that the meeting was dismissed. In the end they did not have to wait for two days to pass, for on the eve of the second day, the pretender attacked in full might. The Golden Company blowing their war horns, elephants trumpeting into the night. Battle raged fiercely and quickly all around him. Maekar wielded his mace like a mad man then, fighting for his life. Swinging and bludgeoning a foe here, and a foe there. Using the spikes on the tip of his mace for good use, swinging and bludgeoning. He sent some dothraki savage to his grave, his head caved in blood pouring from various blows Maekar had dealt.

He received his fair share of blows as well. Some Lyseni fool struck him hard on the head with a axe, and Maekar had felt like his head was about to explode. Maekar had dealt with that fool though, a blow to the chest had been strong enough to end the man’s life. Next had been some big Dothraki man who had come wielding an arakh that had nearly taken Maekar’s ear off, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the man misjudged his swing, and that misjudgement allowed Maekar to swing his mace just in time to knock the man of his horse. Though the man had still dented Maekar’s armour in several places before Maekar had finally ended his life.

After the first day of proper battle, the spirits amongst the loyalist camp seemed high, Maekar knew that they had suffered relatively few casualties, when compared to the pretender’s forces, and yet there was something about the way in which the day had gone that was nagging at him, perhaps it was because of the battles he had fought over his lifetime, but something about the day seemed to easy.

It seemed that as days turned into months, and still there seemed to be no letting up of the pretender’s attack, more of the lords and men began to grown anxious and felt the same nervous feeling that Maekar did. No matter how much was thrown at them, the pretender’s army still seemed to keep giving as good as they got, and as their own numbers began to dwindle, as  injuries became deaths, the pretender’s army seemed to grow as more reinforcements came in from across the narrow sea.

Maekar had yet to see the pretender himself, Maegon Blackfyre was proving to be an elusive threat. Aegon had not seen the man fight, and yet the stories coming from the soldiers was that the man was built like a bull, Maegor the Cruel come to life once again, the men said he thought like the warrior himself, and seemingly had already taken a large proportion of the Targaryen forces. Maekar knew that Brynden had fought the man, once. That had ended with his nephew being severly injured, and bleeding from several wounds, Maegon had apparently left relatively unscathed, and had killed Ser Edrick Baratheon and Ser Garlan Tully of the Kingsguard.

Brynden was not yet well enough to lead any sort of assault as of yet, and so had been kept largely to bed, though he had summoned a war council once again to discuss what was to be done. Grim faces greeted Maekar as he entered the command tent, Tybolt Lannister looked somber for once, there was no mocking glint in his eyes when he looked up and greeted Maekar- the man’s brother had been slain during the fighting, his men severly crushed by the Pentoshi vanguard- Robar Baratheon looked battered and bruised, still alive despite the battering he had taken during the past six moons of fighting, Edwyle Stark looked shattered. Of the lords who had come to the very first war council some six moons ago only, Lord Tybolt, Lord Robar and Lord Edwyle were still alive; Edwyn Tully had been slain by some giant dothraki- an arakh through the head- Mathis Tyrell had been killed by Denys Strickland- a sword through the bowels- Jasper Arryn lay on the verge of death, injured and broken, maesters were not sure whether or not the man would live. Aegon was still alive thankfully, had proven himself a more than capable warrior once again, Brynden was still severly injured, the fact that he was able to move at all was a miracle after the beating he had taken at the hands of this Maegon Blackfyre.

They all rose, as Brynden limped into the tent, followed closely by Ser Devan Manderly and Ser Oberyn Dayne. “Sit, all of you sit.” Maekar heard his nephew bid them, and sit they did. “We have a situation my lords, I am sure you all know that. The pretender continues to threaten us, and Dorne has been torn in half, Mors was killed, his son Derryck continues to fight on though, but for how long I do not know. We must deal with this pretender and we must deal with him now. We must split the man’s forces, I see it now. We have been fighting him on his own terms, he wanted us to fight him head on, and we did, and we have paid the price for it. Now we must make him fight us, on our own terms. Lord Tybolt, you shall take the right from tomorrow, attack the Brave Companions, strike at their flanks, and crush them, I want their heads on pikes by the end of this. Aegon, you shall lead the left, attack the Pentoshi, attack their centre, the fools seem overconfident if what I have been told is true. Uncle Maekar, you shall lead the Vanguard, attack the Golden Company, and kill that bastard. He wants the Iron Throne make him work for it.”

“And what of you, Your Grace?” Maekar asked. “What will you do?”

Maekar saw his nephew cough, blood falling from his lips as he did so. “I will lead the reserve, these Maesters would have me stay in bed till the cows come home. But I will not do that, the pretender wants my throne, I mean to see that he does not get it.”

After that they all bowed and left, the next day Maekar led the vanguard out onto the field and tried to make sure that his nephew would not be needed, his nephew needed to live if there was to be any chance of peace. Raising his mace high into the air, he called for his men to charge, and he let the battle rush take over him. Swinging his mace, he knocked a man on the head, dented another’s armour, killed another man with the force of the mace swing, he swung his way through the Golden Company, littering the snow covered ground with bodies as he went, continuing to swing and swing and swing. Until he finally found the man he was looking for. Maegon Blackfyre, sat astride a red stallion, dressed in big black armour, the greatsword Blackfyre in his hands, and he wielded it like it was a scythe and he was the stranger come to collect payment, all around him men fell like flies.

Maekar charged through past the man’s guards and then swung at the man, his swing was blocked by the man’s sword, and soon they were engaged in a fierce competition of strength and seeing who could remain in their little game the longest. When they broke apart, Maegon swung hard at Maekar, striking him on the arm, Maekar retaliated by swinging hard at the man’s chest and managing to dent his breast plate. Maegon swung Blackfyre, and struck Maekar on the same dent he had created before, causing Maekar to hiss with pain. Maekar struck back, swinging his mace, and hitting the man on the head, knocking him off of his horse.

Maekar dismounted and soon the tide of battle changed, Maekar went on the offensive, swinging his mace like a mad man, every hit to Maegon’s body seemed to be a blessing from the gods, every new dent that he created in the man’s armour was payback for forty years of hurt and war, that the Blackfyres had brought to Westeros. He continued swinging his mace, regardless of the blows that the man was dealing to him, he ignored the sharp pain he felt in his side, when Blackfyre was plunged into it, he kept swinging his mace, kept swinging and relishing in the feel of power he had over this man, he knocked Blackfyre out of the pretender’s hands, and then kicked him to the ground, raised his mace up high into the air, and brought his mace down with as much power as he could muster, and felt satisfied with the resounding crunch of the man’s skull being caved in, as the mace hit his head.

He swung his mace at the next few men of the Golden Company who tried to come near the pretender’s body- no doubt to retrieve Blackfyre- and continued to swing and swing, until he had knocked out or killed more men than he could have thought possible before, and took the sword of a fallen foe, and giving his mace to a nearby Targaryen solider, grabbed Maegon Blackfyre’s lifeless body, took hold of the man’s hair and then hacked of his head. Holding it high up into the air, he shouted for his men and the pretender’s men to hear “Maegon Blackfyre, the pretender is dead. The fighting is done, where is his Grace King Brynden?”

At that a messenger came up to him and said, “Your Grace, his grace the king has been injured. You are needed in the king’s tent.” Maekar felt his heart begin to speed up at the man’s words, he dropped Maegon’s head, and walked as quickly as he could toward his nephew’s tent, praying fervently to gods he didn’t believe in anymore, that they would keep his nephew alive, he had to stay alive, he had to.


	9. The Wolf Of The North

**Edwyle**

_He heard his father’s choking breaths, as his life slowly began to slip away from him. He saw the wounds, gaping there for all to see, oozing blood that was as red as anything he had ever seen. The blood turned to black as his father tried to speak, wounded and broken. “Edwyle....” his father said, coughing up blood as he spoke. “Come here son.” Edwyle came closer to the bed, and took his father’s outstretched hand, and held it tightly though his father’s grip was slack, weak from the blood loss. “Look after your mother for me son, look after her son.”_

_“I will papa.” Edwyle said trying to keep the tremor from his voice._

_“Good now send for Benjen.” Artos Stark said, wheezing as he spoke._

_And so Edwyle grabbed his brother, Benjen who was elder to him by seven namedays, and he stood outside the door with his nephew Hothar holding onto him, making sure he did not flee into the room as words were said. Eventually whatever words his father had had to say to Benjen had been said, and Edwyle found himself being brought back into his father’s room. The stink of death still clung fiercely to the room and Edwyle had to fight the urge to gag, he knew even at that young age what it mean to be a Stark._

_His father took a big wheezing breath before he spoke. “Hothar, Benjen, Donnel, Edwyle you are all Starks of Winterfell. Never forget that, no matter what anyone tells you. The lords will try and separate you do not let them. Stick together and remember that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” And with that Artos Stark breathed his last. Dead from wounds taken during the Skagosi rebellion that had been crushed, but had cost Artos his eldest son Brandon’s life, and the lives of countless other soldiers and loyal men._

_The words that his father spoke to him ring in his head throughout the next few years as he grows from a young babe to a boy, learning with his nephew Donnel and his uncle Beron’s sons Donnor and Rodwell how to fight with a sword and how to become a good lord for his nephew Hothar who will become Lord of Winterfell proper in a few years time._

_When the Lords of the other northern houses come knocking, trying to pressurise Edwyle’s uncle Beron into marrying Hothar off to one of their daughters, and when Hothar tells uncle Beron late one night, after their meeting has gone for hours that he does not wish to make a political match, that he wishes to marry the love of his life Sara Cassel, Edwyle can hear the two of them shouting from his own room some way down the castle.  Two days later Edwyle has just finished with his lessons for the day when he sees Hothar, big strong Hothar, crying, and he finds it strange and worrying for Hothar never cries, he always appears to be so big and strong, that Edwyle goes to his nephew to see what it is that has upset him._

_Through much sniffling, Hothar tells him that “Sara was killed in a riding accident, bandits set upon her.” Edwyle sees how much this news has hurt his nephew and resolves to go and speak with his uncle Beron about it, for he does have great suspicions about how this woman died. He goes to speak with his uncle about the issue and instead is told by his uncle that he will be squiring for Prince Maekar, a great honour and a way to improve ties between the north and the south._

_And so it is that Edwyle finds himself in Summerhall in 210 A.L. after the Great Spring Sickness had ravaged the southern kingdoms. He is met by a man just as grim and dour as he had heard in the stories and gossip that the kitchen maids would often tell him and each other. “Edwyle Stark?” He hears the great giant of a man ask. Nervously he nods his head, his voice lost somewhere deep inside his throat. “Follow me then. I am Prince Maekar, your lord now until you are knighted.” Days turn into months, turn into a year and Edwyle learns what it means to be a squire, it means much work in seeing to it that Prince Maekar has everything that he could possibly need to make his day as pleasant as possible. Edwyle spends much of that first year in awe of Prince Maekar, the man was a war hero, had fought against the Blackfyres at Redgrass Field and had distinguished himself there._

_The beginning of his second year as a squire for Prince Maekar is spent marching north to Lannisport where they will take ships over to Pyke to defeat the Ironborn who have been raiding the north and the Westerlands, and Edwyle feels something within him begin to tense at the thought of something going wrong for his family. He leaves with Princess Myriah’s favour tied around his arm, he rides from King’s Landing alongside Prince Maekar at the front  of the column, dreaming dreams of glory and honour, those dreams soon turn to dust._

_War is not the glorious game the songs make it out to be, the battle at sea is something that remains imprinted in Edwyle’s mind long after it has finished. The screams of the dying, the curses of the soldiers around him as the stumble on the ship to try and find even footing so they may fire flame and arrows at their opponents the Ironborn. Eventually the Iron Sail- the ship Prince Maekar and he sail on- manages to hook onto an Ironborn ship and Edwyle finds himself in the midst of the fighting. Hacking, slashing, ducking and dodging with his short sword- his first actual live steel sword- the first man he kills is with a jab to the stomach, several small jabs and the man’s eyes when Edwyle’s sword is buried deep enough to do more than wound, are wide and the colour drains from them._

_That man’s eyes keep Edwyle up at night, make him wake from many a restless night’s sleep. Even when they defeat the Ironborn at the battle of the Sunset Sea giving them a chance to move on north toward the Cape of Eagles where Edwyle’s brother and uncle are waiting for them. They land and there is no time for reunions, they engage straight in the fighting, Edwyle staying close to Prince Maekar’s side throughout the whole fight, and once or twice he hacks at the Ironborn’s shins when they get too close to Prince Maekar._

_He followed Prince Maekar as the man swung his way through the Ironborn and toward Edwyle’s own brother and uncle, both of whom were fighting hard against six Ironborn. “Ser Roland, keep my squire here if you would.” Prince Maekar grunted. Edwyle was about to protest but one sharp look from Prince Maekar and he was silent. Ser Roland stood in front of him, keeping an eye on the young Stark to make sure he did not try and break away. But Edwyle was rooted to the spot, watching as Prince Maekar fought through the swathes of Ironborn to get toward Benjen and Uncle Beron, but the prince was too late to save them._

_Edwyle screamed as he saw his brother Benjen hacked to pieces by one great big Ironborn- whom he would later learn was Stevron Greyjoy heir to Pyke- and he screamed and screamed and strained against Ser Roland’s arms as his brother fell to the ground his sword out of his hand, and the Ironborn continued hacking at him. A groan from the right, had Edwyle turning to face that way and he screamed once more as he saw his uncle Beron brought down with one fell swoop, his head and body split in half. Edwyle screamed and screamed and screamed until he could scream no more, his heart breaking as his family was torn in two once more._

_Now years later Edwyle was sat trying to bring his nephew back to life, there had been something in the drink, some poison, the man responsible was dead, Edwyle had seen to him. But Hothar was not responding to anything that Edwyle said or did, his eyes were still focused but there was froth coming from his mouth and blood, oh gods when had the blood appeared?  “Ed, Ed enough Ed.” He felt his nephew Donnel’s hands on his arms trying to force him away from Hothar._

_“No, I won’t let him go, he won’t die, I won’t let him die.” Edwyle said sounding hysterical._

_“He’s already dead Ed, let him go.” Donnel said sounding every inch the Lord and elder._

_Edwyle eventually let go of his nephew’s lifeless body and looked at his other nephew and said in a voice laced with ice. “I will never let him go my Lord.”_

_Two years later, they ride back from a successful hunt in the Wolfswood, Edwyle talking with Rory Cassel the captain of the Guards at Winterfell, when they are set upon by wildlings. Edwyle instinctively drew his sword and began slashing at nearest ones who were foolish enough to come near him, they fell with their heads loped off.  Another wildling, a big giant of a man came hurtling toward Edwyle from out of the woods an axe raised high above his head, Edwyle was ready though and swung his sword and jabbed at the man’s unprotected chest, grunting with satisfaction when he felt the sword pierce flesh._

_He turned round to see how his nephew Donnel was doing and found himself transported back in time to the Bay of Eagles, as he saw his nephew fighting three wildlings at once, Ice held aloft. One wildling pierced Donnel’s chest with his Morningstar, Donnel’s arms fell down reflexively and Ice clattered to the ground. Another wildling thrust his sword through Donnel’s leg bringing him down to the ground. At that Edwyle broke out of his reverie and began charging toward his nephew, cutting down anyone foolish enough to get in his way, but like Prince Maekar at the Bay of Eagles, he was too late to save his nephew. He was perhaps five seconds away from Donnel when the third wildling thrust his spear into Donnel’s throat, and Edwyle could only watch in horror as his nephew face fell down, and blood covered the ground._

_“No!” Edwyle screamed. “No!”_

_“Ed let go, Ed wake up.”_

_“No!”_

_Edwyle thrust his sword through the wildlings one at a time, ending with the bastard who had thrust his spear through Donnel’s throat, and he then jumped down from his horse and cradled his nephew’s lifeless form in his arms and whispered over and over again. “Donnel, wake up, please Donnel_ wake _up, Donnel please.” His nephew did not answer, would never answer him again, and Edwyle Stark howled into the sky._

He woke with a start, blindly searching for something recognizable, and when he found that he was in a closed space he began to thrash wildly.

“Ed, its okay my love. You are here with me in Winterfell. I have you my love, I have you.” He heard a voice say, his wife Myriah. She kept whispering soothing words to him until he calmed down and allowed himself to relax into her arms.

Remembering something from his dream he titled his face up to look at her and said. “I didn’t hurt you my love did I?”

“No my love you didn’t. Do not worry I am fine.” Myriah replied. “It was worse this time wasn’t it?”

Edwyle sighed. “Aye, it’s getting worse, I am truly sorry my love. I will sleep somewhere else if it would help you rest.”

“You will do no such thing Edwyle Stark. I am your wife, and I am here for you through thick and thin.” Edwyle heard his wife reply.

Edwyle could not help but smile at that, his wife always so fiery and passionate.

When morning broke a few hours later, Edwyle dressed and left the room allowing his wife sometime to sleep, before the children came bursting in. He walked toward the godswood as was his custom, and sat down in front of the trunk of the Heart Tree and allowed himself to drift of and dream.

During his time in the south, he had seen the southerners pray to their Seven, those statues who neither seemed to care nor hear the prayers and hopes offered before them. He had seen suffering a plenty in the streets of King’s Landing when he had served as Prince Maekar’s squire, and he could never understand why the southerners continued to pray to their statues. Statues that it seemed to him had so many rules, that it was surprising that those that followed them could keep track. He had also never been able to understand what the southerners obsession with knighthood was and why it ran so deep. He had seen knights during the battles he had fought, during the Greyjoy war, the third and fourth Blackfyre rebellions and the only knights that seemed to truly represent what a knight was supposed to represent were the knights of the Kingsguard. All other knights seemed to be vain and vulgar, and barbarous. No he did not understand the south and their knights at all.

The Old Gods and the way of the children he could understand, that way brought him peace and allowed him to calm down when angered, though as of late he had been lax in visiting the Godswood, finding more comfort in Myriah’s arms than he could in the silence and serenity that the Godswood had once offered him. Though still he dreamed and what he saw intrigued him beyond belief, he would need to speak with the King when he next saw him about these visions.

* * *

 

Two years had passed since the vision in the godswood, and the intriguing premise that had given him. He had spoken of it with Myriah, and she had told him not to send word to King Brynden just yet, she said her brother was a practical man, who would need proof first before he believed whatever it was that he had seen. Edwyle not one to argue with his wife, simply nodded and agreed with her, though he did keep a note of what he had seen- _a orange sun and a rose behind one dragon and a wolf on the left, a stag on the right, a trout behind and a lion in front with a falcon perched on top of another dragon-_ a prelude to yet another rebellion perhaps? Though why Dorne and the Reach would side with the Black dragon Edwyle did not know, not when Brynden had grown into such a good and just king, and the Blackfyres would bring nothing but more war and destruction with them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Calling for whoever it was to enter, Edwyle found himself looking at Winterfell’s maester, Maester Tytos. Edwyle noticed that the man held a scroll in his hand and found his curiosity raised, could this be a summons from the King, had his vision been correct? Aloud he only said. “What tidings does the letter bring Tytos?”

Maester Tytos was a young man, had been at Winterfell since Edwyle had been its lord, and yet still he feared him, Edwyle knew that, could see it in his eyes, and yet he found no pleasure from it. “A letter from King’s Landing my lord.”

As always whenever word came from King’s Landing, Edwyle felt his chest tighten with nerves, he knew that if something had happened to either Brynden or Myriah’s mother, Myriah would be deeply affected. He tried to keep his voice calm when he asked. “And who is it from Tytos?”

“Prince Maekar my lord addressed to you my lord.”  Tytos replied.

Edwyle sticks his hand out and once Maester Tytos has given him the letter, he waits till the man has left the room before breaking open the seal and reading what it is that his old tutor and friend has written to him. :

_Dear Edwyle,_

_I hope this letter finds you and Myriah and your children well._

_I am writing to inform you that I shall be riding for Winterfell along with twenty companions, to check on how you and my niece are doing. It has been too long since I have seen you without the tensions of war being present old friend._

_I look forward to meeting you._

_Maekar of House Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall_

Edwyle put the letter down, and felt a smile begin to break out on his face. It had indeed been many years since he had seen his old mentor without the conflicts of war being between them. It would be nice to see Prince Maekar once more, and he knew that Myriah would be happy to see her uncle once more.

He got up from his chair and pushed open the door and walked toward his and Myriah’s chambers, he knew that most married nobles kept to separate rooms and whilst Myriah did indeed have her own rooms within Winterfell, she did not often spend them there, preferring instead to spend them with him. As he got to their rooms, he stopped in the doorway and listened as she sang Rickard to sleep. It was the same song that she had sung to Melissa when she had been but a babe, and that Myriah’s mother the Queen dowager Queen Aelinor had sung to her when she had been a babe.

“You look lovely my love.” Edwyle said.

Myriah turned to face him a look of surprise on her face. “I did not hear you Ed; I hope I didn’t bother you. It’s just that Rickard did not wish to go to sleep until he had had a song.”

Edwyle smiled at his wife, and merely said “No of course not my love. I like listening to you sing as well you know.” He was happy to see a slight blush appear on Myriah’s cheeks at his words. Pushing on he said. “There was a raven from King’s Landing, from Prince Maekar; he is coming to visit us at Winterfell.”

His wife’s smile increased then. “Oh it will be so nice to see him, it has been too long.”

And so the preparations for Prince Maekar’s visit began that very day. Edwyle spent most of that time flitting in between the castle, looking after his daughter and son, as Myriah was very busy with the preparations and on occasion Edwyle felt like a little boy waiting for his father to come home. He spent some of the time when his own duties were done, telling his children stories of Prince Maekar, the man and how honourable and just he was, and sometimes he would exaggerate some of the things they had done much to Myriah’s amusement. He never mentioned that he had been knighted though, after a tournament in King’s Landing when he was sixteen, Prince Maekar had insisted on knighting him before he returned north for as his mentor had said “I will not have you leave here without a knighthood Edwyle. You have served me long and honourably as a squire, and are more deserving of the title than half the knights in the south. You are a credit to your house and to the north and deserve to be recognised as such.” And so Edwyle had reluctantly agreed to be knighted by the man whom he considered to be a father figure.

Three weeks after receiving the letter, Prince Maekar and his twenty companions arrived, the whole of Winterfell was there standing in the cold wintry courtyard to greet them,. Edwyle, Myriah, their daughter Melissa and their son and heir Rickard stood in the front line waiting to greet the Prince of Summerhall. Edwyle felt an odd sort of fluttering sensation in his chest as he saw Prince Maekar dismount from his horse, and suddenly he felt all of ten years old again. But that notion was soon dispensed as Prince Maekar came to stand before him and bid him and his family rise, and like old friends they greeted each other. Prince Maekar looked old and tired when Edwyle looked over his old mentor. “Lord Stark, it is good to see you.”

“You as well, Your Grace.” Edwyle said.

He then introduced his old mentor to his family; Prince Maekar embraced his niece Myriah, and kissed Melissa’s hand and smiled at Rickard and ruffled his hair. Once the introductions were done, Prince Maekar retired to the rooms assigned to him for some rest, before the evening feast began. There was much joviality, with there being singers, jesters and fools to entertain the Starks and their royal guest. Those who would live long into Rickard Stark’s reign as Lord of Winterfell, would speak to their children of how the fiercesome and terrifying Lord Edwyle seemed much more human during that feast and the days that followed laughing and talking and jesting with his wife and his old mentor. What they tried to figure out was why Prince Maekar had deigned to come north when no male Targaryen had come north since the Old King had many years ago.

Edwyle did though, he soon found out the true purpose to his old mentor’s visit. The rumours that circulated about him in the south, the rumours that portrayed him as some sort of sorcerer akin to Bloodraven, some sort of demonic beast.

“The small council has heard the rumours of your supposed abilities Edwyle. Bloodraven’s spies report that you have somewhat of a tyrannical tendency for executions in the godswood and sacrificing those who disobey to the old gods. They worry about Myriah and the children’s safety here in the north, with you.” Prince Maekar said.

Edwyle sat in his solar, with Myriah sat next to him, had to keep his anger in check as he heard the words that his mentor spoke, had to remind himself that the southerners did not know the relationship between himself and Myriah, the love they shared, that he had lost so much already that he would rather die than see them come to harm. Swallowing deeply he said. “Well I do have the abilities that the small council have undoubtedly heard of. I can see things that would unnerve most men aye, and Bloodraven should know that, kinslayer and follower of the old gods as he is. As to the safety of my wife and children, they will always be safe here in Winterfell and in the north. This is my land, and my people respect the laws that are in place, they know the consequence of breaking those laws. I love my wife and my children Your Grace and I would never see harm come to them.”

Edwyle had the feeling that in the silence that followed his response that Prince Maekar was examining him trying to detect any hint of a lie or deceit in what he said. Edwyle looked his old mentor in the eyes and gave nothing away, for there was nothing to give away he had spoken truly and he meant what he said.

Myriah was the one to break the silence; her voice strained and near tear filled, when she said “Surely Brynden and mother do not believe whatever foul rumours those in the south spread of my husband? Surely you do not believe them uncle?”

Edwyle squeezed his wife’s hand to reassure her that he was fine. Prince Maekar looked very old and weary and tired when he spoke next. “Neither myself nor Aelinor believe whatever it is that is spoken of you Edwyle. Brynden,” as he spoke his nephew’s name something within Prince Maekar’s face changed though just as quickly his face returned to normal. “Brynden does not believe the rumours either, I was merely sent here to make sure all was well and that you and the children are both well.”

“And?” Edwyle asked his patience beginning to wane.

“I do believe you are all well, I shall leave on the morrow at first light.” Prince Maekar replied and true to his word he did so, riding with his companions back to the south and the quagmire and nest of vipers that was King’s Landing.

One night a few weeks after Prince Maekar had left Winterfell, Edwyle and Myriah were getting ready to sleep for the night, the children both fast asleep in their beds when Edwyle finally asked the question that had been nagging at him since his old mentor had left. “Do you think I am too tyrannical my love?”

Myriah laughed. “Oh Ed, when I first met you, I was worried that you would be some sort of savage, but then I got to know you more and I now know the kind of man you are. True there maybe somethings that you do that I do not agree with, but you are good man, you are a kind man, and you are my husband and my love and the father of my children and I will always love you.”

* * *

 

In the 234th year after Aegon’s Landing, a daughter is born to Edwyle and Myriah Stark, a daughter with the brown hair of the Starks and the violet eyes of the Targaryens. She is named Anna and soon she becomes the treasure of Winterfell, both her older siblings are fascinated with her, Melissa who by this stage is nearing adulthood at twelve because she believes that Anna will be another girl for her to play with, Rickard because Anna is someone whom he can play with as well, but also someone he can protect and cherish.

Edwyle watches his wife and children and feels contentment in his heart, this is the family he had never thought to have, when Hothar and Donnel were both still alive, he had considered perhaps taking the black, then when they had both died he had thought that perhaps taking the black would be a good choice, better to let Rodwell or Donnor become Lord of Winterfell rather than him. They had been taught how to rule, how to lead, how to be a lord from an early age. Edwyle the third son of Artos Stark had never thought to aspire to such things, he would have been happy taking the black and serving the Night’s Watch, but the gods had conspired to make his path different. And so now he would make sure that his children learnt the ways of the world early, and would never, ever suffer the hurt and heartbreak that he had, nor the feelings of inadequacy that so often plagued him.

But the gods do not often listen to the pleas of men, not even those that they have gifted supernatural powers to and in the 235th year after Aegon’s Landing, Edwyle receives a raven calling him to war once more, the Blackfyres had allied with the Ironborn, the Westerlands lay a smoking ruin, the Lords of Crackclaw point were being aided by the King, the Riverlands though had been left largely undefended and were burning. It was to there that Edwyle and the northmen would march, it would be there that they would face Jaehaerys Blackfyre and his army of mercenaries.

Edwyle left Winterfell reluctantly for his wife was heavy with child, their fourth another son Myriah said, Edwyle did not mind so long as both babe and mother were healthy and alive when he returned he would be happy. Before leaving he spoke with his son Rickard at eight looked a Stark in appearance but Edwyle could see traces of his Targaryen heritage there as well. “Protect Winterfell and your family Rickard. You are the Stark in Winterfell now.”

And so Edwyle marched south with 12,000 northmen determined to fight and free the land from this Blackfyre threat and build a safer home for his wife and children. When they crossed the neck and the Twins they found the Riverlands alight with flames and burning. The Blackfyres and their sellswords had set the place to the torch, homes were empty and the crops gone, the people dead, bodies lined Edwyle and northmen’s path as they marched south. His scouts reported that Jaehaerys Blackfyre uncle to the pretender had camped on the south bank of the Green Fork, and Edwyle smelled complacency in the move. The man clearly had become overconfident with his successes, had clearly forgotten the beatings the Blackfyre had taken in the past. It was time for Edwyle to remind the man why the Blackfyres still did not sit on the Iron Throne.

They met the Blackfyre host which was made up of 2,000 men from the Golden Company, 5,000 men from the armies of Pentos, 2,000 men from the armies of Myr and Tyrosh and 3,000 men from the Maiden’s Men, on the east bank of the Green Fork. Standards were drawn and battle began. A wave that was what battle was like, a wave, fierce and unrelenting. Edwyle hacked and slashed his way through the men in his path. Staining the ground and his sword red, foes fell before him aplenty, hacked in half, their heads lopped off, their bodies torn in half, all to the sword Ice.

Edwyle kept pushing his men further and further through the ranks of the Blackfyres, they would break, sellswords always broke and ran, that was their nature. He cut his way through them, until their bodies littered the ground, the sound of men dying and fighting echoing through his head, warring with other memories he had of battles he had fought, and those that he had seen killed, he tried to push those memories away as he cut down yet another man wearing the sigil of some barbaric eastern house he did not know.  On and on it went, a foe would come near him and Edwyle would cut them down, someone else came and down they went. At one point he was fighting against three opponents at once, though when one of the bastards speared his leg, he feared that for a moment what had happened to Donnel would happen to him, but the man was no brute, and soon Edwyle had killed the three men, though not before sustaining some serious injuries to his own person.

It mattered not though, for soon Edwyle was face to face with Jaehaerys Blackfyre the commander of this aspect of the Blackfyre army. The man was not as big as his brother Maegon had been, where Maegon had been big and strong, Jaehaerys was lean and thin, though his skill with a sword seemed to be good, if the amount of blood on it was any indication. Though Edwyle noted that he was severely wounded already a observation that was further proved when the man’s strokes were so slow Edwyle had time to counter act them and bury his sword in several different places at once. The killing blow was a thrust through the chest, the blood splattered everywhere and Edwyle felt nauseous, swaying on his horse, and nearly falling off when an arrow struck his left leg.


	10. Decrepit and Decayed, Still We March On

**_Brynden_ **

“Rodrick Greyjoy, you have been brought before the Small Council to answer for the actions of your brother, Lord Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke.” Brynden had said in a voice of iron.

Rodrick Greyjoy had been brought to King’s Landing some twenty years ago as a hostage for his brother’s good behaviour after Dagon Greyjoy’s raids on the north and west of Westeros had been put down by Brynden’s uncle Prince Maekar. Greyjoy had been but three years old and had grown up in the Red Keep alongside Brynden, they had grown up to be quite close, the brother that Brynden had never had. Of course the reason for Rodrick being present in King’s Landing still hung heavy in the air between them, and Brynden could remember the number of times that his mother had warned him to never become to close to Rodrick. Now the man- whom Brynden had chosen as his brother- stood in front of the Iron Throne, tall and proud, though looking shaken.

His friend had stood there in front of the Iron Throne, and had merely said “I know not what my brother is doing on Pyke Your Grace. Nor would I know, I have not been to Pyke since I was a wee boy, in case you had forgotten.”

Brynden tensed on the throne, “I had not forgotten Lord Rodrick, but as you are the only member of House Greyjoy currently in residence here in King’s Landing, you must answer for your brother. Therefore I shall ask you once more, do you know what your brother Lord Quellon intends to do with his fleet?” Brynden replied tersely.

“And I say once more Your Grace, that I do not know what my brother intends to do with the Iron Fleet. I have not been to Pyke in sometime, nor have I spoken with my brother in quite some time.” Rodrick replied.

Brynden sighed then, “Very well you are dismissed.”

As he watched his friend leave the throne room Brynden could not help but feel torn between remaining seated on the throne and going after his friend to assure him that he did not doubt his loyalty to the throne and to him, but that it was necessary for him to ask, after all they had suffered betrayals before, and Brynden did not wish for his family to suffer anymore. But as he looked around the throne room- which was deserted of a large audience- and saw the way his namesake Bloodraven continued to stare at the space where Rodrick had been moments before, Brynden decided against following his friend deciding that it would only cause more problems.

“What more is there to discuss?” Brynden asked now, desperate to go and spend some time with Rowena and their children- Rhaenys, Maelor, Baelor and their newborn daughter Aelinor- he did not wish to have discuss more dry and rather dull topics with his small council, and witness the arguments that would undoubtedly spring up between his uncle Maekar and Bloodraven.

“My sources from across the narrow sea, report that the Blackfyres have arrived in Pentos. They report that the pretender Aegon is there to martial troops and support for his cause, and another invasion.” Bloodraven said.

Brynden looked at his uncle and said “Have your men across the narrow sea deal with the pretender and his uncles. I want confirmation of their deaths via raven and any other method that you can think of Bloodraven.”

“And what of the pretender’s child? What will you do with the man’s daughter Your Grace?” His uncle Maekar asked.

Brynden looked at his uncle then, and saw just how old and tired his uncle truly had become, where there had once been no lines or scars on his face, now there were plenty. His uncle seemed to be more reserved and rigid in his ways than he had been before he had ridden north, and Brynden wondered what had occurred in Winterfell to make his uncle so like he was now. Aloud though he only said “She shall be brought here to King’s Landing, and when she and Maelor come of age they shall marry. The Blackfyres cannot then try and stake a claim through any legitimate child of Daemon Blackfyre’s then, for Maelor and the girl’s wedding will unite the two bloodlines and end this conflict that has lasted for so long.”

Brynden saw his uncle nod in approval and felt something like pride surge through him, it was strange really how even now at the age of 25, and as a father to four children he still himself felt like a little boy whenever he spoke with his uncle or his mother. Brynden noticed that Bloodraven himself had not seemed to react to what he had said, and that surprised him, for Bloodraven had often been the strongest supporter of taking stringent actions against the Blackfyres each time they had been brought up in the small council meetings, now that he was silent, Brynden was beginning to have his own suspicions about the man’s motives.

However, now was not the time to voice these suspicions he would wait and see whether the man carried out his orders before he questioned him about where his true loyalty lay. For now he was simply happy to know that that issue had been dealt with. So he spoke once more “ What else is there to be discussed.”

It was Grand Maester Derryck who replied. “There is the matter of Lord Jasper Arryn and his son Jon Your Grace.”

Brynden sighed, the issue of whether or not Jon Arryn should be fostered anywhere as according to his father’s wishes had been an issue that had refused to leave Brynden’s court, and he half suspected it was because of the fact that Rowena was his queen, that half these blithering fools in the Vale and the Crownlands were pressing for the chance to foster the boy, it had come to the stage where both Lord Royce and Lord Rosby had begun arming themselves. Royce claiming that no son of the Vale should be fostered outside of the Vale, and with Rosby claiming that fostering the boy outside the Vale would do more good for him than keeping him fostered within the Vale. “Lord Royce makes a valid point, it is only fitting that the future lord of the Vale should be fostered within the Vale to better understand his lands and people. Lord Rosby, I believe simply speaks for fostering the boy with himself, so he can ingrain himself further with my wife’s good books. He does not have the boy’s best interests at heart. No Jon Arryn shall be fostered in the Vale, and both men shall withdraw their call to arms at once. Have that sent in a raven to the Eyrie, to Runestone and to Rosby, I do not wish to hear of this issue anymore after today.”

“It shall be done Your Grace.” Maester Derryck said bowing and leaving the throne room to go ahead and do his duty.

“If there is nothing else,” Brynden said rising from the throne. “Then this meeting is over. Uncle Maekar if you could walk with me.” Brynden walked down from the throne and his uncle walked beside him as he walked from the room, Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Tywin Reyne walked behind them.

The sound of their shoes hitting the ground echoed around the empty halls as they walked from the throne room to the nursery where Brynden wished to see his children. They walked largely in silence for most of the journey, but once the silence became too much for him Brynden whispered to his uncle. “What has you so worried Uncle? You have not been the same since you came back from Winterfell. Is Edwyle Stark an okay man for Myriah to be married to?”

His uncle Maekar swallowed deeply before he replied. “Nothing is wrong in Winterfell, Edwyle loves Myriah deeply that much was clear from my time in Winterfell, and I have made that clear since I have come back from the north. No it is not that that worries me, it is Aelinor who worries me.”

Brynden felt his chest tighten at the mention of his mother. “What is wrong with mother? Why has no one told me what is wrong with her?” he all but snarled at his uncle.

His uncle stopped walking then and looked at him, an annoyed expression on his face. “That’s the thing Your Grace. I do not know what is wrong with your mother, and as such I could not tell you anything even if you had asked.”

Brynden knew that perhaps he should apologise for the tone of his voice when he asked his uncle that question, but the words his uncle had said in response to the question had caused him to get more worried and as such he could not think about apologies now. “What do you mean you do not know what is wrong with mother Uncle? You spend more time with her than anyone else in the Red Keep; you should know what is wrong with her!” Brynden knew that his voice was slowly beginning to rise with the fear of something being wrong with his mother, he couldn’t lose her, he just couldn’t.

His uncle raised his hands in a gesture of peace and said quietly “I do not mean to frighten or worry you Brynden, but something is wrong with Aelinor and I know not what it is, but I shall endeavour to find out what it is.”

Brynden knew that was as good as a promise as he was going to get from his uncle and so he merely nodded. Just as he was about to ask him a question about something he had heard one of the maids say, a page came running from the other side of the keep, his face coloured red from the run he had likely just endured. He sounded out of breath when he said “Your Graces, I come bearing news from Lord Brynden, he says that the body of Rodrick Greyjoy was found in his chamber, with froth coming out of Greyjoy’s mouth.”

Brynden feels something within him break at that. “You are sure it is Rodrick Greyjoy?” he asks harsher than he intended.

“Yes Your Grace, Lord Brynden saw the body with his own two eyes and identified it as Lord Rodrick.” The page replies.

Brynden closes his eyes briefly, before saying “We know the way to Lord Rodrick’s rooms you may leave us.”

The page bows briefly and then is running off somewhere else. Brynden looks at his uncle once and can see the same look of shock reflected on his uncle’s face. They say not a word as they walk toward Rodrick’s rooms which were a few doors away from the nursery. Upon entering Brynden has to do a double take, for there lying on the bed is his friend, his best friend, Rodrick Greyjoy lies on his bed with his eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling, and there is froth coming from his mouth still.  Grand Maester Derryck must have been summoned for Brynden can see the old maester flitting from one spot of the room to the other trying to gauge gods alone knows what.

“Who found him?” Asks Uncle Maekar.

“I did Your Grace.” Says a boy with the livery of House Harlaw on his doublet- Rodrick’s squire Brynden remembers though the boy’s name escapes him- “I came to see what Lord Rodrick wished to have for dinner, and when I came to the room the door was open and Lord Rodrick was laying there as he is now.”

Brynden still finds that he is unable to speak and so his uncle Maekar says “Did you see anyone leaving the room as you approached it? Anyone at all?”

The page shakes his head.

“We have searched the entire castle Maekar, and no one has been sighted looking suspicious.” Bloodraven says in that calm and collected tone of his.

“Someone must have poisoned him then, through the food.” Uncle Maekar says.

“Maester Derryck is checking the food and the body now, though we won’t know for certain how or what or who did this for some time.” Bloodraven replies.

Brynden merely continues to stare at the body, his friend’s body. Before he knows what he’s doing he is kneeling down beside the bed, and is simply staring at his friend, his best friend. He knows not how long he stays there kneeling, but it must be a long time, for when he feels his uncle’s hand on his shoulder, everyone bar himself, his uncle and Bloodraven have left the room. Brynden turns round to look at the two men, two men whom he respects and admires greatly and he merely says in a chocked voice “Word must be sent to Pyke, Quellon Greyjoy will wish to know of his brother’s death.”

Both men nod their agreement, and then Brynden says “Find out who did this, find out who killed Rodrick, and find them before I do.”

“They will be found Your Grace.” Bloodraven replies before he leaves the room to go and do his duty.

Once he has gone, Brynden looks at his uncle Maekar and he says softly “If Quellon Greyjoy was not gathering his fleet for war, he surely will declare war now. With Rodrick dead.”

His uncle Maekar merely nods ,and Brynden sighs once more “Let us hope that I am proven wrong, and that we can get justice for Rodrick before the kingdoms burn once more.”

As it turns out Brynden is proven correct for a moon after a raven was sent to Pyke informing them of Rodrick’s death, a raven arrives for Brynden written in the scrawling hand of Quellon Greyjoy and its contents are grim and foreboding. :

_Dragonspawn,_

_You have killed a kraken and for that you must pay, you and your Greenlanders shall pay. Only death can pay for death. Prepare for death Greenlander, lots of it._

And sure enough a week later a raven arrives from Casterly Rock informing them of the burning of Banefort, and the landing of a Ironborn army that is marching inward. Lord Garon writes that he has called the banners and is marching to meet this host of Ironborn, and that he has asked Lord Tully for assistance. At the small council meeting it is decided that the rest of the kingdoms must be called to arms, and so the ravens go out calling the Lords Paramount and their bannermen to arms.

It is just as Brynden is about to march for the Westerlands- a moon after receiving the initial raven, two weeks after hearing of the burning of Faircastle, Kayce and the attack on the Shield Islands- that a raven arrives from Sylvar Bar Emmon informing them of the landing of mercenaries flying the black dragon banner of House Blackfyre, and of the battle that had followed on the shoreline, and a call for help.  After much debate, it is decided that Brynden will march with the army of the crownlands to the south and meet up with the Stormlords host gathered by Lord Robar Baratheon, and then head off to fight the Blackfyres and their mercenaries.

Brynden says goodbye to his wife and children, and promises that he will do all he can to return. He sees Bloodraven saying a similar goodbye to Shiera Seastar- the seductress who had only loved the man Brynden had been named for- and as he waves goodbye to his family he sees Uncle Maekar and his mother holding hands and he hopes to the gods that they can figure out whatever it is that is going on between them.

They are camped somewhere within the Kingswood, when a rider reaches them, with a letter from King’s Landing, writ in his wife’s elegant hand. It comes bearing dark tidings from the Vale, because of the winter and the poor conditions, the army of the Vale has been delayed marching down from the Bloody Gate, and that their fleet has been iced in at Gulltown. Brynden shares this news with his war council and the atmosphere becomes dark almost at once, without the help of the Arryns and the armies of the Vale, will they be able to beat the pretender this time around?

It is as they arrive at Bronzegate the seat of House Buckler that they learn from the old and ailing Lord Emmon Buckler that Jaehaerys Blackfyre had sailed from Pentos and down the bay of crabs and had attacked and sacked Maidenpool with some 15, 000 men. Lord Mooton had been slain in the sack, his wife and children were all dead. His brother fled. The atmosphere within the castle and amongst the men darkens at this news. There is more news from the west. It seems that Quellon Greyjoy had split his host in half, fifty of the ships had sailed from Banefort and had attacked and taken the Shield Islands, from there twenty ships had sailed down the Sunset Sea and had attacked and sacked the holdings of Bandallion, Blackcrown and the Three Towers. The remaining thirty ships had docked in at the Mander and had fought a bloody battle with a host of Reachmen led by Lord Helmar Tarly, according to the letter, both sides had suffered significant losses, with Tarly being slain, and someone by the name of Ulf Pyke leading the charge that broke Brightwater Keep. The part of the Ironborn fleet that had remained in the west, had docked at Banefort and had allowed for some 6,000 Ironborn to descend on the Westerlands, raping, burning and pillaging as they went, but before Garon Lannister could give chase and do battle with them they fled back onto their ships and sailed for lands unknown.

 Such tidings left the mood amongst the camp very low, as most men did not seem to know how to beat the foes that seemed to be ganging up on them, slowly and steadily. To Brynden it became clear, the Ironborn and the Blackfyres had likely been working on this invasion for a long time, and had most likely only been waiting for the opportune moment to strike. That thought, put a darker one in Brynden’s head, what if it had been Quellon who had had one of his men poison Rodrick’s food and drink.

Such thoughts were pushed from his mind though when they finally arrived at the point where the Wendwater entered Blackwater Bay.  There they found a host of some 20,000 men camped. From what the scouts had reported, it appeared that Jaehaerys Blackfyre had taken 2,000 members from the Golden Company. The rest were all camped just in front of them, alongside 12,000 men from three different sellsword companies from Essos. Brynden’s own army comprised of 5,000 men from the Crownlands and some 7,000 men from the Stormlands, he only prayed that it would be enough.

At the first war council held that evening, it seemed that the lords gathered thought the same as he had.

“Sellswords are a fickle lot, they may break easily against our numbers and understanding of the land.” Andros Celtigar said

 “They have 20,000 men, battle hardened ate. But they are sellswords, and will not have fought in the last war, they should perish easily.”Said Lord  Steffon Massey - a confident and brash young man- .

“Aye, that is what we thought of the Pretender the last time we fought one of these wretched Blackfyres, and the war lasted nigh on a year. We cannot afford to underestimate them again.” Lord Robar Baratheon replied, cautious as old age had made him.

“What would you have us do Your Grace?” Lord Selmy asked.

Brynden sighed and was silent for a moment as he thought through everything their scouts had told them of the Pretender’s army. “He has men on Massey’s Hook, and will likely have ships waiting for a getaway in the bay. Burn the ships and you leave him stranded here. The question is whether or not he has reinforcements in Stonedance and Sharp Point. First burn the ships and then we shall see whether the man is willing to give open battle.”

 The men hastened to obey and that night and the nights that followed, Brynden stood from his tent and watched as the Blackwater came to light in sight of the flames. There were skirmishes as some of the pretender’s men fought his own, in the battle to get to the ships, but eventually when the next council was called Steffon Massey reported that out of the 120 ships that the Pretender had had, fifty had been burnt over the course of two weeks, for the loss of some 500 men. Brynden felt the loss keenly, but deeply hoped that the men’s sacrifice could pay off. The next day, was the first day of proper fighting.

Dawn had just snuck upon the darkness, when a war horn was sounded. Brynden had awoken before the sun had risen and had been sat dressed in his armour waiting for the sun to rise, when the horn had been blown, the enemy was springing a surprise on them. And soon 3,000 sellswords were charging down the hill on Massey’s Hook toward them, brandishing swords, axes and weapons of all kinds, Brynden saw his men run hastily to put on their own armour and draw their own weapons when the first wave of fights broke out.

Brynden ran out of his tent, Blackfyre held high and began hacking and slashing at the first soldiers from the enemy who came at him. He lopped of a head here, cut a man in half there, all around him was the sound of steel on steel, the sounds of men dying and crying. But Brynden ignored all of that and merely focussed on keeping Blackfyre raised high and using it to cut down as many men as he possibly could. The fighting for that day lasted from the early hours until well after the sun had set, it was the hour of the wolf when the last sellsword was slain.

Brynden made it back to his tent, battered and bruised, but he tried not to complain too much as the maester tended to his wounds, this was just the first day of battle, there were many more to come. The day’s count of the losses for their side numbered some 2,000 men. 2000 men dead in one day, it was a toll that Brynden was not willing to truly let his mind dwell on, it only made him more determined to end this fight as quickly as possible and then head off to deal with the Ironborn.

The fighting continues not for just one more day, but for several more months. Each time one man falls amongst the Blackfyre army, another five come to take his place. Brynden knows not where these men come from, how they manage to sneak past the patrols and scouts that he has sent out continuously since the battle began, but they come and he fights them with all he has, and he kills them, and some of them wound him, but they still die in the end.

Reports from other parts of Westeros seem more encouraging, Edwyle Stark managed to kill Jaehaerys Blackfyre and his army of northmen dealt with the army of sellswords that the man had taken north from Maidenpool with him. Stark had then set Maidenpool back to rights, helping Edgar Mooton, the brother of the former Lord of Maidenpool back into the city and as such was helping the man rebuild. The fighting between the Westerlands and the Ironborn had spilled onto Pyke, with their fleet still intact at Lannisport, Garon Lannister and Lord Stevron Tully had boarded the ships and had fought and defeated the Ironborn host left at Pyke, who were led by Horras Greyjoy- Quellon’s oldest son- Pyke was under Lannister control now.

Other news regarding the Ironborn was less positive, they held the Shield Islands, they had sacked and burnt their way through Bandallion, Blackcrown and the Three Towers, and some of their fleet had smashed Brightwater Keep to dust, Garth Tyrell was dead, slain at the Battle of the Mander. Dorne seemed to be the next place where the Ironborn were to be heading, and still no one knew where Quellon Greyjoy was.

It was disheartening and frustrating, yet Brynden knew that the only way to end this was to fight the man who would claim the throne, Aegon Blackfyre, son of Maegon. In the fifth month of the 236th Year after Aegon’s Landing, after six months of fighting, Brynden Targaryen challenged the Blackfyre pretender to single combat, a fight to the death. The fighting had cost too many lives as far as Brynden was concerned, his uncle Bloodraven had been slain by three arrows to the chest a week before, Ser Devan Rowan had been slain a moon ago. Ser Mikkel Gargalen had been slain that first night in the frenzy and the chaos that many were now calling the battle of the Dawn. Jasper Baratheon lay bleeding most certainly to his death, now, the man had survived the last war, but this time he was older and there was more chance for death, enough was enough, Brynden had decided. The man wanted to be king? Let him fight to earn it.

“The man is young and rash and foolish. Let him make the first move Your Grace, and victory shall be yours.” Ser Oberyn’s words were echoing in Brynden’s head as he strode forward through the crowd that had gathered, he was dressed in black armour with the three headed red dragon of his house on his chest plate. Aegon Blackfyre strode forward in silver armour with the black three headed dragon on his chest plate. Both men nodded to one another before donning their respective helms.

They circled one another, neither man willing to make the first move. This went on for what seemed like days, but perhaps was only a few seconds before true to Ser Oberyn’s estimation, Aegon Blackfyre lunged forward at Brynden. Brynden moved backwards in time so that the boy’s swing fell short of him, causing the boy to go off balance. Something Brynden took full advantage of, moving to the right he cut at the boy’s right hand side and managed to make a dent in the boy’s armour, drawing first blood.

That angered the boy, he began a rapid attack of swinging, hacking and slashing at Brynden. Some of his strokes connected with him, make cuts and dents in his armour, some of which drew blood. Others sailed harmlessly passed Brynden, and others which Brynden blocked with his sword. Though he may not be as quick as the boy, he was more skilled and had more practice and training and so allowed the boy to tire himself out.

Which he did, Brynden responded with a very severe attack of his own, swinging his sword left, right and centre. Some of the blows landed where he wished them to, denting the boy’s armour and even opening up wounds in some places. Some of the blows the boy managed to block and even turn into counter attacks, though not for very long.

One swing to the boy’s helm has him knocked over and stumbling blindly backwards. Another swing to the boy’s chest has him on the ground, on his knees begging for mercy. One final swing and the boy’s head is off, the Blackfyre pretender is dead.

* * *

 

Three years since the fifth Blackfyre was crushed and the Ironborn brought to heal, Brynden Targaryen sits in his and his wife Rowena’s chambers, his wife’s head resting on his shoulder, his hands playing with her hair. Word had just come from the Vale of Jasper Arryn’s death. Jasper Arryn and the forces of the Vale had not been able to come and fight at the Battle of Massey’s Hook, nor had they been able to fight in the Riverlands, due to the high level of snow that had blocked their army’s advance, that was something that Brynden knew had deeply embarrassed and hurt his goodfather’s pride. His goodfather had fallen ill some moons ago from a winter fever, and had just succumbed to it, his body had according to the letter written in Brynden’s goodbrother’s hand had faded away like wasted parchment.

“We can’t even leave for the funeral. Not with your uncle ailing as well.” Brynden heard Rowena say against his neck.

Brynden sighed, it was true. His uncle Maekar had been ailing with some sort of illness for the past few moons as well. It seemed winter had come firmly now and was refusing to leave, and was taking all those who had suffered through so much before with it as it was finally forced to leave, bit by bit. His uncle Maekar had faded away to pretty much a husk of his former self, speech was more and more difficult for him, and he constantly coughed up blood and sick, Brynden knew that his uncle did not have long to live, and yet he could not deny his wife the chance to say goodbye to her father, not when he had never truly had the chance to say goodbye to his.

This is why he says into her hair “You could go you know my love. I am needed here, but there is no reason why you cannot go. You could take Rhaenys and Maelor with you, it is not too late in your pregnancy to travel, and you could go. Go and say goodbye to your father and meet with your brother and sisters.”

Rowena tilts her head up to look at him and in a choked voice replies “DO you think I could go? It would not be too dangerous would it? With winter still here? You would be okay here without me?”

He smiles wanly at her then and says “Yes my love, it would be fine. Besides I could send you on the royal fleet, no one would dare attack you then. Greyjoy is dead, his two oldest sons dead, his youngest is a ward with Garon Lannister, and the Blackfyres have been beaten back into Slaver’s Bay. No there will be no threat to you or the children. I shall speak with the council about it tomorrow.” He kisses the top of her head then and they fall back into a comfortable silence.

As they remain in silence, both thinking over their own thoughts, Brynden feels his thoughts begin to turn to the events that occurred four years ago at the end of the last Blackfyre rebellion. Even with the pretender dead, some of the boy’s commanders had kept the fighting going, fighting in the name of the boy’s uncle Lucereon. Eventually though these commanders had been betrayed by their own men and had been killed or handed over bound in chains to Brynden and his own commanders. Those commanders of the Blackfyre’s forces that had not already been killed were put to the sword, the soldiers were given two choices to take the black or death, most chose death. With that sorted Brynden had turned his attention to the west, and had found that Pyke had been taken, Quellon Greyjoy had sailed with his cousin Domeric Orkmont on the Iron Jewels, raiding and pillaging the Reach and the coast of Dorne, tired and exhausted though he was, Brynden had sailed from Storm’s End with some 400 men and had met Quellon Greyjoy on the Sea of Dorne, where confronted not only by the fleet of the Stormlords, but also with the remains of the Redwyne Fleet, Greyjoy had surrendered and had been pardoned but his youngest son Balon became a ward of Garon Lannister and should he rise up again in rebellion, that would mean his son’s instant death.

With that issue sorted there had been the problem of the Kingsguard to sort out, thwo of the white knights had died fighting at Massey’s Hook, and their replacements were needed. But as with the end of the last rebellion, Brynden had not been able to truly think of whom could replace two knights who had more than earnt their white cloak. Ser Mikkel Gargalen a fierce fighter and honourable, had died and was replaced by Ser Stevron Corbray, Ser Devan Rowan was replaced by Edrick Crakehall’s youngest son Lucion Crakehall- who was but seventeen years old but had fought valiantly in the taking of Pyke.  Ser Oberyn Dayne,  the lord commander of Brynden’s Kingsguard had placed the white cloaks on the two men at an event in the Great Sept of Baelor in the eight month of the 236th year after Aegon’s Landing, allowing them join amongst Ser Oberyn, their other fellow sworn brothers: Ser Tywin Reyne, Ser Devan Manderly, Ser Gwayne Gaunt and Ser Lomas Estermont.

Ser Loras Arryn had come up in discussion once again as a potential member of the Kingsguard, but Brynden remembering the way in which Rowena had begged him not to let the man anywhere near her or King’s Landing had out right refused to entertain the thought. He had not met this Loras Arryn, but from what he had gathered from Desmond Royce his master of whispers, Loras Arryn seemed to have a very slimy reputation within the Vale, not just for his antics with some of Rowena’s ladies in waiting and his ‘love’ for Rowena, but because of his supposed fierce temper and the fact that Jasper Arryn had seen him as a son.

* * *

 

It had been four moons since Rowena had departed for the Eyrie, sailing from King’s Landing with an escort of some twenty war ships, as well as Ser Gwayne Gaunt and Ser Lomas Estermont of the Kingsguard. The wintry weather had meant that the journey which would normally have taken a moon at most by sea, had taken three. Rowena had written to him when she and the children had arrived at Gulltown, stating that she and the children were well and that she would be moving straight onto the Eyrie as soon as transport was made available.

Since that raven there had been no more news from either Rowena or her brother Jon, though Brynden was not too concerned about it, for it was likely that with winter still in full swing, the raven had either been blown of course or was just late in getting to King’s Landing. In any case, Brynden had enough to keep him occupied, what with the children- Rhaenys, Maelor, Baelor and Aelinor- all having gone with their mother to the Vale, he had immersed himself in restoring the kingdom to its former glory,. That had meant spending long hours with the small council pouring over every single detail and the cost of rebuilding the ports at Lannisport, strengthening the defences at the Shield Islands, and developing more trade with Bravos, Myr and Lys.

With his uncle Maekar still incredibly ill, Brynden had begun to rely quite heavily on his cousin Aegon, and had even toyed with the idea of naming his cousin hand, though of course his uncle still held the position. Thinking of his uncle, his thoughts turned to a conversation that he had had with him a week or so ago. His uncle could barely speak, and could only do so after having had a heavy dosage of milk of the poppy, and even then his words were slurred and usually incoherent, but this one conversation was stuck deep into Brynden’s mind, and it would not leave his mind no matter how much he tried to force it to go.

_“Brynden, how are Rowena and the children?” his uncle had asked, his voice sounding so weak and faint, that Brynden had had to strain to hear what he was asking._

_“They are doing well uncle,” Brynden replied. “Rowena is in the early stages of her pregnancy, but she glows, like she has with all of our babes. And Rhaenys and Maelor are doing very well, they have charmed half the court, the other half is completely charmed by Baelor and little Aelinor.”_

_A smile had broken out on his uncle’s face then. “Good, that is good. Securing the dynasty and making sure that they are loved, that they know that they are loved.”_

_Brynden hadn’t known what to make of that, but had not had the chance to respond when his uncle had spoken once more “You know that your mother and I have always loved you yes? I have loved you like you were my own son, my own flesh and blood.”_

_“Yes uncle, I have, I do.” Brynden had replied._

_“Good,” his uncle had whispered. “I am sorry if I sometimes appeared overbearing, I simply wished for you to become the man I knew you could become.”_

_Brynden had fidgeted uncomfortably then, knowing that his uncle spoke of the war with Maegon Blackfyre and nothing more. He was about to apologise then for the words he had spoken on that long ago day, but his uncle had spoken once more._

_“Once I die, you must secure the family. Look after your mother, and tell her that all will be well, our secret shall be with us still, till the end of time.”_

_“Secret?” Brynden had said then, then he had turned and looked around the room and seeing it was just the two of them in the room, he whispered the question once more. “Secret uncle? What secret?”_

_His uncle had laughed then and had replied. “Ah but that would not be a secret if I told you, now would it? But then again I suppose you deserve to know about myself and your mother, and our history.”_

Brynden’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, calling for whoever it was to come in, Brynden found himself looking at young Ser Lucion Crakehall, the young man seemed very nervous as he spoke. “Your Grace, Grand Maester Derryck sent me to find you, its about his grace Prince Maekar. He’s died.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Blood Of The Falcon

**Rowena**

It took them a month to reach Gulltown, what with the seas and ports still being patrolled after the last failed Blackfyre invasion. In that time Rowena spent it aboard her husband’s ship the Dragon of the Seas, with her children- Rhaenys now turning into a beautiful maiden at the age of thirteen, her second son Baelor now aged eight and her newborn babe Aelinor aged five months. Maelor had stayed behind in King’s Landing, not because he did not wish to come visit his cousins in the Vale, but because as heir to the Iron Throne, Brynden had argued that it was crucial that he stay in King’s Landing and learn a few things about ruling.

Rhaenys was already a strong and independent minded girl, who much to her septa’s apparent dismay, preferred getting herself muddy and dirty rather than spend it sitting around sewing, Rowena did not particularly mind this about her daughter, as it strongly reminded her of what she and her sister had been like before all that had happened at Oakenfist had occurred. Baelor, her special boy was a quiet lad, preferring to spend more time with Rowena than socialising with the other children aboard the various vessels that were accompanying them to Gulltown. Aelinor, her little girl was barely five moons old and yet Rowena was convinced that she would be the exact same as her father- strong willed, confident and kind all at the same time-.

At Gulltown they were greeted by Rowena’s uncle Ser Gwayne Grafton- a big broad shouldered man of forty who was a renowned warrior- her uncle smiled at her and engulfed her in a big bear hug once she had gotten off the ship. “Rowena, it has been too long my child!”Her uncle said completely ignoring the disapproving look sent his way by Ser Desmond Gargalen, captain of the guards in King’s Landing.

“It is nice to see you again as well Uncle.” Rowena replied smiling up at him.

“Are you not going to introduce me to your children then niece?” Her uncle asked, a hint of laughter showing in his tone.

“Of course forgive me,” Rowena answered. She beckoned her children forward, and of course Rhaenys came forth first with her head held high and her shoulders squared, a gesture so reminiscent of Brynden that Rowena briefly felt a pang of homesickness. “This uncle is my eldest child Rhaenys, “her uncle bowed his head and kissed Rhaenys’ hand causing the girl to giggle. “This young lad is my son Baelor,” Baelor peeked his head round Rowena’s skirts nodded once at his great uncle then hid behind Rowena once more. “And this,” Rowena said taking Aelinor from her nursemaid “Is my youngest child Aelinor.”

Rowena saw her uncle smile at all of her children, “They all look like handsome and pretty and strong niece. Come walk with me, we have much and more to talk about.”

And so Rowena and her children walked with her uncle Ser Gwayne from the docks to the carriage that was waiting for them, as Ser Gwayne helped her into the carriage he pulled her close to him and whispered into her ear. “Your father’s death has hit the Vale very hard child, be prepared to see a much different setting in the Eyrie than when you left it.”

Rowena nodded and then closed the door behind her and watched as her uncle mounted his horse, and they began the long journey to the Eyrie, all the while she spoke to her children of their grandmother and their uncles and aunt, and of their cousins. Rhaenys seemed to be the most fascinated out her and Baelor about the stories of their family in the Vale, Baelor it seemed was much more interested in the scenery that they passed as they made their ascent to Rowena’s childhood home. Rhaenys kept asking questions about the family that made Rowena smile with how much her daughter seemed to be like a younger version of herself and of Alys.

After a two week trek up the mountains, they arrived at the Eyrie. And Rowena felt her heart fluttering in her chest with excitement, she had not been back to her childhood home since she had gotten married all those years ago, and now here she was back again. As her uncle dismounted from his horse and helped her and her children out of the carriage, Rowena saw her mother standing proudly next to her brother Jon, who had grown so much since she had last seen him all those years ago, a young man now at the age of sixteen. Ronnel her baby brother who hadn’t even been born when she had gotten married stood there next to her mother and Jon a shy look of curiosity on his face.

Rowena moved forward to greet her family, with Rhaenys boldly walking beside her, Aelinor in nursemaids arms and Baelor trailing behind her, his hands clutching tightly to her skirts. She stopped in front of her brother, and after Jon had bent down onto one knee, kissing her outstretched hand Rowena had laughed playfully then and had said “Oh do get up Jon, it is too cold for us to be out here for too long.”

Her brother looked up at her and smiled. “Of course Your Grace.”

And with that the household of the Eyrie got up and introductions were made by Rowena of her children to their grandmother and uncles. After those had been made Rowena walked arm in arm with her brother into the castle, and whispered to him “Could Alys not make it Jon?”

A strange look passed over her brother’s face at the mention of their sister, but it quickly disappeared when he turned to look at her. “Alys is too busy with her own things to come up to the Eyrie most of the time. However, she did say she would try and make it up for atleast a visit now that you are here Your Grace.“

Jon would say no more on their sister after that, and so Rowena let it drop and simply spent the next few days enjoying spending time with her family away from the pressures of King’s Landing. She was glad to see that the people of the Eyrie had greatly taken to her children; Rhaenys seemed to have charmed them all with her bold spirit and constant question asking. Baelor seemed to have come out of his shell thanks to Ronnel and Rowena had often seen the two boys sparring with wooden swords in the practice yard, and Aelinor seemed to be constantly in the arms of Rowena’s mother.

During the course of her stay in the Vale Rowena watched her brother as he held court with the various lords and knights and smallfolk of the Vale, and what she saw impressed her deeply. Jon, seemed to have learnt a lot from their father, if the way he spoke and acted during court was any indication, no problem or grievance was too small or great for him to listen to, and he would always try and do his best to ensure that those who brought the grievance to him and those responsible for the grievance received a fair and reasonable judgement. He truly did seem to take their house words ‘As High as Honour’ very, very seriously and Rowena could not but help feeling proud of her brother.

There was just one area where Jon seemed to falter in his dedication to the people of the Vale. At the age of sixteen her brother was still unmarried, or at the very least he was not even betrothed. Now whilst he had an heir in their younger brother Ronnel, Rowena was surprised that he seemed not even in the least bothered about finding a wife. When she had brought this up with her mother, her mother had simply said. “Oh, well Jon has much on his plate. He cannot afford to spend time looking for a bride, not with you and the children here, and not with your father’s death so recent in memory” Rowena could not understand that, surely with father’s death the importance of Jon being married and trying to produce an heir was of the most importance, as father’s death most surely reflected the mortality of humans.

Two moons into her stay at the Eyrie and her sister Alys finally made a trip to visit them. With her came her lord husband Elys, their four daughters- Lysa, Minisa, Catelyn and Jeyne-  Rowena remembered her sister as being full of life, and with a smile always on her face. The woman, who greeted her on the brisk spring day, did not remind Rowena of her sister, her face seemed haggard, her eyes no longer seemed to be full of life and her smile was strained when she greeted Rowena and the rest of the family. Rowena knew that her sister’s marriage to Lord Elys had been a quick and hastily arranged affair, after Alys had tearfully confided to her about what she had done with Loras, Rowena had hastened to tell Alys that she tell their father, Lord Jasper had been understanding of what had happened though he had still sent Loras away from the Eyrie and as such Rowena was never sure what exactly had transpired that had led Alys marrying a man who was much older than her and perhaps beneath her.

There seemed to be a lot of underlying tension during her sister’s stay at the Eyrie, there were many thinly veiled comments aimed by her sister at their mother and even at Jon himself, many things were said that flew over Rowena’s head, as she had not been present for the last few years of her father’s life she did not understand some of the references and comments that Alys made about him. Eventually the tension came to a head after the farewell feast held for Alys and her family. Much wine had been consumed over the evening, and the barbed comments had flown freely between Alys and their mother, with Rowena and Jon having to play the moderators and make sure that the conversation did not become to loud nor too offensive. After Rowena had put Rhaenys, Baelor and Aelinor to bed with her brother Ronnel’s help, and then had put Ronnel to bed, she went to find her brother to speak with him about something their uncle had said, when she heard loud voices coming from her mother’s room, curious as to what the matter could be Rowena walked toward her mother’s room but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard her sister’s voice.

“You don’t understand mother, you never understand. You and father both!” Her sister exclaimed!

“What is there to understand Alys? You are unhappy in your marriage yes that is all well and good, but you cannot carry on with that Loras boy. It shames you and your husband and the family name!” Rowena heard her mother reply in a voice that suggested that this was an old conversation.”

“The family name? What has the family ever done for me? What did father ever do for me, except sell me off to the highest bidder who would be willing to take me?” Rowena heard her sister say angrily.

“Yes the family name Alys. The family has done much for you, it is because of the name and your looks that your father was able to seal the deal with Lord Elys and get him to marry you, otherwise you would have been stuck here in the Eyrie without any potential for marriage.”Rowena’s mother replied tiredly.

“Humph, of course,” Alys shouted. “So whilst I am the shame and the burden on the family, Rowena was and always has been the pride and joy of both you and father. Why did you not just have me killed as a babe, why keep me alive so that I could shame you?” Rowena could hear the tears in her sister’s voice, and the urge to go into the room and comfort her sister was strong, yet she remained rooted to the spot.

“Alys....” their mother began.

“No, I will not be swayed by your lies anymore mother. Loras was right.” Alys replied angrily before she stormed out of the room, Rowena hid behind one of the pillars so that she could not be seen by either her mother or sister. She stood where she was for a long, long time deeply shocked by what she had heard.

Two moons later, Rowena and her children left the Eyrie, for Gulltown and then hopefully for home. Since that conversation she had overheard between her mother and her sister, Rowena was beginning to put into place certain things that had been going on roughly around the time she had been getting ready for her own marriage. Her father’s short temper, her mother’s constant panicking, Alys’s tears and then sudden disappearance into married life. Something had been going on in the Eyrie for a long time, perhaps in the Vale as well and she had been to preoccupied to think about it. Such thoughts had been pushed from her mind for a time though what with her brother’s betrothal to Jeyne Royce of Runestone. Jeyne seemed to be a nice girl who seemed to be deeply infatuated with Rowena’s brother, so she hoped and prayed that they could have a happy marriage.

At Gulltown Rowena and her children were originally not meant to spend longer than a few days in order to allow the ships to get ready for departure, however the minute they arrived in Gulltown and found themselves greeted by Lord Marcus Grafton, her uncle and saw her other uncle Ser Gwayne who had come with them to the Eyrie tense, Rowena sensed that something was wrong.

“Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you. I do hope you don’t mind me coming here to greet you and request you spend sometime with us before departing for King’s Landing.”Her uncle said.

Her Uncle Ser Gwayne eyes narrowed and he replied sharply. “They don’t have time for any of your theatrics Marcus, Her Grace and the children are due to leave tomorrow, they can’t spend time faffing around the castle waiting on your every whim and pleasure.”

Lord Marcus simply laughed. “Ah brother, so nice to see you haven’t changed since we last met. But alas this is one request that Her Grace must not refuse, not if she wants to hear of events from King’s Landing.”

Rowena felt herself tense and she asked rather nervously. “What has happened in King’s Landing uncle?”

Her uncle turned his attention toward her and smiled rather menacingly, so that she was pushing Rhaenys and Baelor behind her. “Your husband’s uncle Prince Maekar has died from illness. His Grace the king has fallen ill as well. He is close to death.”

Rowena felt her insides tighten at that. “How, how do you know this uncle?” Rowena asked hating how small and tiny her voice sounded.

Her uncle Marcus did not respond he merely nodded and then Rowena heard several swords being drawn at once, and before she knew what was happening a sword was pointing at her throat as well as at her children’s throats. Her uncle Ser Gwayne lay dead on the ground his throat slit. “Because the rightful king has made it so niece. Take her to the castle, Ser Loras will be happy to see her.”


	12. Wake The Dragon

**Brynden**

The words that Lord Marcus Grafton had spoken to his niece of her husband’s illness were lies, lies spoken to further his own gain with the man who had loved the Queen since they were both children, and of course with a man across the narrow sea whose gain it would be should the proof he was slowly gathering turned out to be true. Of course Brynden Targaryen, first of his name and king of the seven kingdoms, did not know of the plots and intrigues going on in his wife’s home kingdom nor was he aware of the potential threat to his children and dynasty. No at the moment that his wife was taken into custody along with Princess Rhaenys, Princess Aelinor and Prince Baelor, Brynden was busy meeting with his small council, discussing many pressing matters, first and foremost amongst them was who to appoint as successor to Prince Maekar to the position of hand of the king.

Many of the lords at court thought that the king would follow tradition and would appoint his cousin Prince Aegon as his hand, Aegon was an experienced warrior having fought in three Blackfyre wars, and had the experience of the politics and intrigue that came with operating in King’s Landing. Aegon himself had no intentions to push for the handship, not wishing to hold the burden that his father and great uncle had had before their deaths. As he said during the council meeting, “I do not think I am hand material Your Grace, my lords. I may have been at court for many years now, and I may know the ropes around the intrigue of the court, but I have much to attend to at my own home of Summerhall. Daeron and Aerion have left me with much to attend to there, plus there still is much to do with regards to enforcing the laws of the kingdom that my own father could not get round to doing before the last rebellion.”

Brynden nodded in acceptance of his cousin’s wishes, but by looking at the expressions on Lord Edmond Rosby- his master of coin – and Tyrek Baratheon- his master of ships-, he knew what his cousin had not been received well. Baratheon he could understand, the man was betrothed to Egg’s daughter Rhaelle, and therefore would more than likely wish to have more influence at court, something he could only have if his goodfather was hand of the king. Rosby spoke then, and Brynden knew that the man was speaking simply to further his own voiced opinions from the previous session. “My prince, whilst we can all understand and appreciate the difficulties at Summerhall, surely it would be better for one of the blood such as you to serve as hand. As it would show the kingdom and the rest of the lords and smallfolk that the dynasty is united behind itself and his grace.  There has been precedent for relations of the monarch to serve as hand, Prince Viserys served as hand to both his nephews and the realm had a long lasting peace and prosperity. Such a thing could be achieved if you were to serve as hand.”

Brynden snorted, he knew that Rosby did not entirely approve of some of the measures that he had been implementing since uncle Maekar’s death that the man still saw him as something of a green boy, even though it was now 241 A.L. and he had ruled as king in his own right for fourteen years now. He knew that Rosby wanted Egg as hand so that he could curb what the man thought as Brynden’s rash decisions. Brynden saw Egg smile slightly and his tone was light when he replied. “Whilst I thank you for your confidence in my abilities Lord Edmond, I must confess that having seen the affects the handship had on my father and great uncle, I do not wish for the handship. Also with the Blackfyres still a threat across the narrow sea, it would be better for the peace and for the stability of the realm, if a lord from one of the other noble families was made hand, so as to give the impression that his grace was not so arrogant as to seem contemptuous of the influence that such houses have.”

Brynden nodded and then spoke in serious tone, though he already knew what his cousin’s response would be. “And tell me Prince Aegon, whom would you suggest that I make my hand if not you?”

Brynden saw his cousin look at him then, it was a look that he had seen many times from his uncle Maekar when they were discussing something that was known only between the two of them, he hid a smile behind his hand. “I would suggest either Lord Edwyle Stark of Winterfell or Lord Robar Baratheon of Storm’s End.”

Brynden looked at Tyrek Baratheon, the heir to Storm’s End, and he was delighted to see the man’s usually smug face fade into worry, if the boy’s father were to come to the capital, the boy would not be able to keep to the numerous vices he had going on, the visits to the brothels of King’ s Landing, the visits to the winesinks and hideaways of the cutthroats, a boy who had come from a well off family, a boy whose father was someone whom Brynden admired deeply, a boy who was betrothed to Brynden’s niece, he was a scoundrel and a shame to the family name, but if his father was here he would not do any of that. Brynden decided that the boy did not need his father’s presence here to straighten out before he wed Rhaelle, he would see to that. So clearing his throat he said “Very good suggestions, personally I prefer Edwyle Stark. We need to improve relations with the north, make them more active in the daily affairs of the kingdoms. Edwyle has fought honourably and justly for us, it is time we honoured his contributions to defending our realm.”

This was met by some silence before protests began to rise up, chief amongst them Lord Edmond Rosby. “Surely Your Grace cannot be serious? The man is a barbarian and a savage and there are rumours about the things he does to those who are disobedient to him. Plus the man is a fanatic about his tree gods, such a man would alienate the faith and would drive more of the pious lords into the arms of the Blackfyres.”

Tyrek Baratheon echoed Rosby’s thoughts saying. “Edwyle Stark is a man I would not trust with my life, let alone the lives of the whole of Westeros Your Grace, surely my father are a better option than that fanatic.”

Grand Maester Derryck spoke up, even though he knew Brynden’s reasoning for wanting Edwyle as hand, and said “Your Grace, consider this, in 241 years of Targaryen rule, the hands of the king have either been of the blood royal, or have been from noble families from the south. The north has largely been left alone during this time and for good reason as well. What is there to say that Lord Stark will know of the intricacies of court politics, or of how to deal with the more pious lords who come to court? Surely Lord Baratheon would be a better hand than this man?”

Brynden sighed, he was about to explain his reasons when his master of whispers Jarryck Lothston spoke. “Your Grace is right in thinking that Lord Stark must be recognised for his achievements in helping to protect the realm. What better way to do this than by giving him a position of great honour, as the right hand of the king?”

Ser Oberyn Dayne Lord Commander of his Kingsguard spoke up in agreement saying. “Stark is an honourable man and will do all he can to ensure that peace remains in Westeros.”

Brynden smiled then and said “So it is decided, Edwyle Stark shall be my hand.”

As the lords filed out of the council chamber, he asked Egg, Lord Jarryck and Ser Oberyn to remain behind. Once Maester Derryck had shuffled out of the room and the door was closed, he turned to look at Lothston and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “What word of Rowena and the children?”

He saw Lothston swallow nervously before he replied. “They were to board a ship from Gulltown two weeks ago. When they came to board the ship they were greeted by Lord Marcus Grafton and his household guard, and were taken into custody. Ser Gwayne Grafton was slain.”

Brynden stared at Lothston for a long moment before saying. “And why would Grafton wish a death upon himself?”

“Power.” Was what Aegon said.

“The Blackfyre Lucereon has promised Grafton Lordship over Runestone and many other places if he removes her grace the queen from the game, as well as Princess Aelinor and Prince Baelor. He intends to wed Princess Rhaenys to his son. Ser Loras Arryn has been promised lordship of the Eyrie and her grace as his wife for aiding him.” Lothston elaborated.

Brynden felt himself go cold at the mention of Loras Arryn, he had never met the man but he knew from speaking with Rowena that the man was cold and cunning. This needed to end, and in a voice that reflected the anger burning inside of him he said “Well then, it is time that Lord Marcus remembered who it is that gave him Gulltown. It is time that Ser Loras Arryn learned what it means to wake the dragon. Aegon have Maester Derryck send the ravens out to the lords of the crownlands and to the lords of the Stormlands we shall sail for Gulltown and wipe out the traitors.”

Aegon nodded, and Brynden prepared himself for war.

* * *

 

 

They docked into Gulltown in the dead of night, Brynden felt a cold anger pounding through him as he looked up and saw the castle of House Grafton in the distance. Somewhere there were his wife and children, having gods knows what done to them. He would kill Marcus Grafton and anyone who stood in his way. He would let them know what it meant to anger the dragon, to wake the dragon. Beside him he saw his nephew Duncan tense with anticipation, he had decided to take Duncan with him telling Egg that the boy needed experience if he was to succeed Egg as Prince of Summerhall, the boy was nineteen now, had been too young to fight in the last Blackfyre rebellion, he was boisterous and good natured and not too bad with a sword.

“Easy lad,” Brynden said to his nephew. “Don’t move just yet. Wait till we’ve docked in, then we can begin the assault.”

Brynden saw his nephew nod his head in acceptance, and found his thoughts turning to his own boy, Maelor had just turned eleven and had not fully understood where Rowena or his other siblings were, all Brynden had been able to tell his son was that something had happened that required him to go and see Rowena and help her. He had left his son in the capable hands of his mother, Queen Dowager Aelinor and his cousin Egg. He still needed to speak with his mother about what uncle Maekar had told him on his deathbed about secrets, something about secrets that always sent a tendril of dread through him when he thought of them.

He shook his head to take it away from those dark thoughts and instead turned to Lord Robar Baratheon, the man was pushing fifty and yet he still had answered the call when it had come. Turning to him now, Brynden smiled wanly at his old mentor and friend and said “I want the boys on the landings killed; no one is to know we have come. We have the element of surprise and I want it to stay that way.”

“Aye it will be done Your Grace.” Robar Baratheon said before he trudged off to give the commands to his men. No doubt he would lead the charge up the planks that was his way.

“Why do you need all the boys on the landings killed nuncle? Surely one would be better kept alive so as to provide a bargaining chip should the Arryns of Gulltown become suspicious?” Duncan asked.

Brynden looked at the lad and nodded in agreement with his question but simply replied. “They have my wife and three of my children Duncan, logic serves no purpose when it comes to family. Keep that in mind when the time comes for you, though hopefully it never will. Grafton will expect us to keep one of the boys alive, and will therefore have removed anyone who could be of value; therefore whilst these deaths will pain me, they must be necessary so as not to give away our position.”

“Okay nuncle.” Duncan replied.

They remained in silence for a long time, before they felt the ship dock in and saw the planks being lowered. Brynden turned to his nephew and whispered to him, “Stay close Duncan, if we get separated find a member of the Kingsguard and stay with them, no heroics okay?”

“Yes nuncle.” Duncan replied.

“Good.” Brynden replied, and then once he heard the clanging of swords and the shouts of men fighting and dying, he waited four, five, six breaths before he moved from his spot and said “Come we must move now, whilst the dark still shields us.” And with that he walked off the ship with Duncan and Ser Oberyn and Ser Tywin in tow, he drew Blackfyre from its sheath and looked around the pier, bodies littered the ground, covered in blood and water.

“The way to the castle is clear Your Grace, no one escaped alive.” Robar Baratheon said to him.

Brynden nodded and said “Many thanks. Go rally your men Robar, we take this castle now with as little bloodshed as possible.”

They charged up the road toward the castle, and arrived to find the guards that Jarryck had told them usually guarded the entranceway were dead already, their throats slit. That was odd he thought, they had not sent anyone ahead of them, perhaps Jarryck had men inside the castle? He pushed on, Duncan and the two knights of the Kingsguard trailing behind him. As they entered the hallway leading to the great hall, they found more guards lying on the floor their throats slit, stab wounds in their bodies. Brynden began to feel something akin to worry pounding in his chest, what was happening?

 They pushed on through the doors that led into the great hall and Brynden felt his heart catch in his throat. There lying on the ground was the body of his wife, she appeared lifeless, there was blood flowing from somewhere on her person and he immediately rushed forward to her, and when he got to her, he cradled her head in his lap. Duncan, Ser Oberyn and Ser Tywin formed a protective ring around him, and he noticed that Rowena was clutching something, though her eyes were closed. “Rowena, my love,” he whispered. “It’s me, its Brynden. Open your eyes my love.”

That was when he heard the laughter. “Ah if it isn’t the boy king, come at last to save his wife.” Brynden looked up and saw the big and broad figure of Marcus Grafton walking down the steps toward him. Ser Oberyn and Ser Tywin tightened their grip on their swords and moved closer toward Grafton. Brynden saw his wife’s uncle look at Rowena then at Brynden and heard him chuckle once more. “Don’t worry, she’s not dead. I had my maester give her some milk of the poppy before your men killed those deckhands out on the pier. She need not know of what we discuss tonight.”

“And what would I discuss with a traitor Lord Grafton?” Brynden replied.

“Why your surrender of course.” Grafton said a smug smile on his face.

“Surrender? Why would I surrender?” Brynden asked genuinely confused.

Grafton laughed once more and said “Because you cannot win. A war will come to Westeros, the like of which has never been seen before. The Black Dragon shall rise from the ashes, and take back what is rightfully his, and House Targaryen shall fall, and fall hard.”

“Blackfyres have been trying for nearly fifty years to remove my family from the throne, based on an old rumour started in some winesink by a man too drunk to remember the words of what he heard. Each time they have failed, and they shall continue to do so.” Brynden replied.

Grafton merely laughed at that and said, “I believe your wife has something she wishes to share with you.”

Brynden looked down and saw Rowena’s brown eyes looking at him, she seemed woozy and confused, but when she recognised him she smiled, though her smile quickly turned to worry. “Brynden, Brynden, please you must leave, you must leave, it’s a trap, it’s a trap!”She exclaimed.

Brynden did all he could to reassure her whispering soothing words in to her hair, though for some reason this only served to make her more agitated, and she constantly seemed to flick her eyes towards a bundle on her chest. “He killed her Brynden, he killed her.”

“Who, who did he kill?” Brynden asked fear building up in his chest.

“Aelinor, my baby, my sweet baby.” Rowena whispered.

And with growing horror, Brynden recognised the bundle on his wife’s chest, it was not a bundle, it was the corpse of his baby daughter Aelinor. He looked at Grafton and asked his voice choked. “How, how could you do this? Killing an innocent?”

There was no remorse on the man’s face when he replied “Because it needed to be done.”

Brynden remained speechless, and as he saw men emerge from the shadows of the hall, he knew that they would be outnumbered, and he did not feel like fighting now, not with his wife lying here broken and his baby girl dead. He feared for Rhaenys and Baelor, he truly did, yet he dare not ask for them, not with this mad man still alive. He looked at Ser Tywin Reyne and titled his head slightly, he saw Reyne nod, and then Brynden said loudly. “You have committed a most grievous sin by killing a child, that she happened to be mine own daughter, has made your crime even more damning. Lord Marcus Grafton I sentence you to death, Ser Tywin shall do the deed.”

Grafton merely laughed, and said. “My men outnumber you here in this hall, I severely doubt Reyne will be able to get to me, even if he tried.”

At that moment though the doors burst open and in walked Robar Baratheon and 5,000 men from the Stormlands and the Crownlands, with them was the wounded but still alive man whom Brynden believed to be Loras Arryn. “Aye Grafton, outnumbered are we. Men kill the guards on the wall.” Brynden heard Robar Baratheon shout. As the carnage died down, Baratheon turned to Brynden and said “We found your children Your Grace, the bastard kept them in one room.” Brynden looked and felt such relief as he saw Rhaenys and Baelor come running toward him, they hugged him tightly and whispered words of sorrow into his ear.

He held onto his two children with one arm and with Duncan’s help, helped Rowena sit up, though she still cradled Aelinor’s lifeless form in her arms and would not part with it. Brynden looked at Grafton who had gone very pale as the massacre of his men had occurred, and said in a tone of ice. “You shall die now Marcus, and you’re house shall end. Ser Tywin kill this man, Ser Oberyn Lord Robar bring the man’s sons here, if they resist execute them.”

And so it came to pass that House Grafton of Gulltown ended that night in the sixth moon of the 241st year after Aegon’s Landing. Marcus Grafton and his two full grown sons Desmond and Derryck Grafton were all put to the sword for crimes of treason. Ser Loras Arryn was brought back to King’s Landing and thrown into the black cells for questioning at a later date. Brynden spent the rest of the month with his wife and children, all business with ruling the realm he left to his small council. He tried to help his daughter and son recover from witnessing the trauma of their sister’s death. Lordship over Gulltown was given to House Wydman on the suggestion of Jon Arryn and his mother.  A moon after their return to King’s Landing, Brynden and the royal family, that being his wife Rowena (who was slowly recovering from the loss of her baby girl), their eldest son Maelor, their only daughter Rhaenys and their son Baelor along with Queen Dowager Aelinor rode north for Winterfell, where Edwyle Stark was named Hand of the King, he brought with him.

All was well for the time being. Though it would not be long before more conspiracies and plots unfurled and the dragon was woken once more.


	13. The Wolf And The Dragons

****

**Edwyle**

Myriah found him in the godswood, his head bowed in prayer in front of the heart tree, his hands clasped in front of him. Winter had broken, spring had come and gone, and now summer was here, Edwyle prayed for a long summer to end the harshness of what winter had brought, he prayed as he always did that his family would know peace and prosperity and that they would never face the despair and tragedy that had plagued Edwyle and his siblings and nephews in years past.  He was taken from his prayers when Myriah laid a hand on his shoulder, no one else would think to do that, to disturb the fierce lord of Winterfell from his prayer, but Myriah was not just anyone, she was his wife, the love of his life, he ruled the north but she was the one person along with their children that he would give up anything for. He opened his eyes and turned to face her, noting the expression on her face he asked her. “What is it my love? Has something happened to the children?”

Myriah shook her head slightly and spoke softly as if not to disturb the ancient things that Edwyle knew resided in the godswood. “The children are fine my love. No a raven has come from King’s Landing, from my brother the king.”

Edwyle nodded. “And what does his grace say?”

Myriah paused for a moment as if considering how best to say what she wanted to say. “He and the royal family including my mother ride for Winterfell.”

“That is good is it not? It has been many years since we last saw his grace.” Edwyle replied.

“Aye, my love it is. But I wonder why Brynden has chosen to come all the way to Winterfell and with his family as well, surely it would not have been more prudent to ask us to King’s Landing. After all Rowena has been through with those blasted Graftons and with mother not being as young as she once was.” Myriah said.

“Perhaps he wished for her grace to get some air and time away from the capital. I would not know how his grace thinks, but I know that if something as traumatic as a loss of a child happened to us gods forbid, I would wish for us to leave our home for a time. It can only be good.” Edwyle replied.

Myriah smiled at him then, and Edwyle felt his heart flutter in his chest, he always felt like a green boy in front of his wife, no matter how long they had been wed. “Well then, come inside my love. We shall need to make the preparations for the royal visit won’t we?” Myriah asked.

“Aye that we will my love. I shall need to write to Rodwell and Donnor, they will both wish to be here when his grace gets here.” Edwyle said, Rodwell and Donnor had gotten along very well with Brynden during the last Blackfyre rebellion, the three of them had been nigh inseparable, Rodwell had fostered in King’s Landing as well as a youth alongside the young king, yes they both would wish to leave the quagmire of Barrowtown and come for their old friend’s visit.

And so in the month it took from the raven arriving in Winterfell to the royal family’s arrival in Winterfell suitable arrangements and preparations were made. Myriah told Edwyle that no doubt her brother would bring some of the court with him, and they both had their suspicious as to why Brynden was riding so far north, but neither of them spoke of it. The children were of course very excited to meet their uncle, the King. Rickard and Brandon both bounced on the balls of their feet in eager anticipation on the day of the king’s arrival, Melissa and Anna both dressed as prettily as possible, though Edwyle knew that his goodbrother had betrothed his son and daughter to one another in keeping with Targaryen tradition, though why he had done so Myriah had not been able to explain, given what they both knew of the king’s loathing of his family’s incestuous practices.

All of Winterfell was gathered in the courtyard dressed in their best finery, when the King, Edwyle’s goodbrother rode into the castle grounds. Brynden Targaryen, the first of his name looked as impressive and as fierce as Edwyle remembered him from the last time he had seen him, some five years ago now. The king was dressed in the black and red of his house, with the three headed red dragon showing most prominently on the cloak he wore. His iron crown glittered in the sunlight, the seven swords shining. He was followed by two knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Oberyn Dayne the Lord Commander and Ser Tywin Reyne, both men glittering in their white armour, white cloaks billowing behind them. They were followed by the Prince of Dragonstone, who for a moment Edwyle mistook for his old friend Prince Maekar so true was their resemblance, the prince was handsome looking that was for sure, he was accompanied by Ser Matthis Baratheon youngest son of Robar Baratheon.

Once the king had dismounted Edwyle and the rest of Winterfell kneeled before him, after a space the king asked them to rise, before he clasped Edwyle on the shoulder and said in that gruff tone of his “Lord Edwyle, it has been too long.”

“Aye Your Grace it has.” Edwyle replied.

The king broke out into a smile then and said “Well come now Lord Stark, don’t be so solemn, introduce me to my nieces and nephews!”

Edwyle could not help the smile that came to his face then, and so he proceeded to introduce his goodbrother to Rickard, Melissa, Brandon and Anna all of whom either bowed or curtseyed and Edwyle had to fight hard to repress a smile when Melissa blushed at a compliment from the King. When Edwyle got to Myriah though, the King went serious for a brief moment and then forgot all propeity and embraced her tightly. Edwyle looked away from the reunion but heard the king whisper to his sister “It has been too long Myriah, I have missed you deeply.” He did not hear his wife’s response though he could guess at what it would be.

Once all the introductions had been made the royal party retired for the afternoon in better preparation for that evening’s festivities. Edwyle was about to lead Myriah back into the castle when he heard the king say “Lord Stark, walk with me if you would.”

Edwyle nodded and joined the king, they walked toward the broken tower, Ser Oberyn and Ser Tywin following a discreet distance behind the two of them. It was the king who spoke first. “How have you been Ed? It was long ago I last saw you, and that too after a godforsaken war and the death of my uncle and many good men.”

“I am good Your Grace, we all are.”Edwyle replied.

The king snorted at that. “Please Ed, call me by my name, I have enough people kissing my ass back in the capital as it is.”

“Very well then.... Brynden,” Edwyle said smiling slightly. “Rodwell and Donnor shall be coming later tonight for the feast, I thought you might like to see them.”

Brynden smiled widely then, and it was as if Edwyle was looking at his goodbrother as he had been at ten years of age. “Ah that will be good. How have they been doing Ed? Is Rodwell as wild as he was before, has he settled down or does he still go about breaking young girls hearts?”

Edwyle laughed then, and was thankful that none of his bannermen was there to hear it, he had a reputation to uphold after all. “Alas no Brynden, Rodwell finally acquiesced to my uncle’s wishes and settled down. He married some second daughter from House Dustin, and has started a cadet Branch of our family in Barrowtown. Donnor is serving at the Wall.”

Brynden laughed. “Rodwell married, now there’s a sight I wish I had been present to see.” The king turned serious then. “You must know why I have come all this way Ed, my uncles are both dead, one by battle, the other from illness. Some on the council urged me to look to the south, some suggested Egg, but my cousin refused, some even suggested that bastard Lannister, but no. If not Egg there is only one person I trust more than him, and that is you. Edwyle Stark, I would ask you to be Hand of the King.”

Edwyle could not say he was entirely shocked by the request; nonetheless he got down on bended knee and said. “Your Grace, I am not worthy of the honour.”

Brynden snorted. “You’re more worth of the honour than some of those pock nosed bastards in the south, all of whom want something, but whisper pretty little lies to try and get my favour. No, if there is one thing my uncle taught me, it was to value family. You are my family Ed, you have ruled the north well and good, now help me rule the Kingdoms and we can end this god damn Blakcfyre threat and bring a lasting peace to Westeros.”

“As you wish Your Grace, if you could give me time to speak with my wife about it, I shall get back to you.” Edwyle replied, though he already knew what Myriah would say.

“Yes, yes. Now come I believe we must feast soon no?” Brynden said.

And so later that evening they feasted, well into the early hours of the next day. It was very, very late by the time Edwyle and Myriah returned to their own chambers, both were tired, though Edwyle knew he must speak of the offer to Myriah now before the moment past. “My love, what we thought would occur has occurred. Brynden offered me the handship.”

Myriah nodded slightly, and then said “And you will accept it won’t you my love?”

“Aye. I must, for the good of the realm, my dreams are not wrong, if I do not accept the black dragons will continue to plague Westeros, and Brynden will not last long for there will be traitors in his court, even now there are.” Edwyle replied, speaking of the vision he had had some moons ago, when news of what had happened at Gulltown came to them.

“Then, accept it my love and keep an eye on my brother. He has a good heart, but I know not whether he is like our father, or our uncle.” Myriah said.

“Your mother did not come to Winterfell after all my love?” Edwyle asked. He had not had the chance to properly introduce himself to the rest of the King’s family apart from Queen Rowena and Prince Maelor.

“No, Brynden said mother felt too unwell to make the journey. She sent her love though for both us and the children.” Myriah replied, and Edwyle wished he could tell her why her mother had avoided coming to Winterfell, for it had nothing to do with illness, though he had promised Prince Maekar that he would never tell a soul, not even his own wife.

The royal party stayed in Winterfell for two weeks, in which time there was a hunt, and the Princes and Princess got to know their cousins, and Edwyle began to learn more of his goodbrother, past the fine swordsman and more than capable battle commander, and through these observations of his, he came to see that there was more of Prince Maekar in the king than King Aerys or Bloodraven, a good thing that was for sure.

They left Winterfell, the royal party, Edwyle his daughter Anna and youngest son Brandon along with their household guard and forty other retainers, as they travelled further south, Edwyle noticed that the king seemed to lose the air of joviality that he had in Winterfell, his smiles became less frequent and his brooding seemed to become more prominent. One day, when they were near Harrenhal especially, Edwyle noted that the king became very, very agitated, though why he would not explain until they had past the cursed castle.

“I do not like that castle nor those whom occupy it.” Brynden said a deep anger in his voice.

Edwyle looked at his goodbrother then and asked. “Why Your Grace? I thought that one of the Lothstons served on your small council?”

The king snorted, “Aye Jarryck, a fine young man, though he comes from traitor’s stock. A man Edmond Rosby suggested for the role after uncle Brynden died. Rosby resigned you know, when I said you were to become Hand of the King. Upped and left for his pile of mud and bricks, saying he could not serve on the same council as a madman and a savage such as yourself.” The king spat into the ground as if to show what he thought of Edmond Rosby.

Edwyle remained silent for a moment at that and then asked softly. “And who will be replacing him Your Grace?” Rosby was known for his financial genius that much Edwyle knew from his sources in the south.

“Garon, Daenys’ husband. He has money and has skills in the department, though I wish he did not have to come.” The king replied, a grimace on his face.

Edwyle had heard rumours about the tensions between the king and the Lannisters, though never at his sister, Myriah had always told him that more than anything Brynden loved and cared about was his family. And so he had to know to understand. “Why do you wish that you did not have to ask Lord Garon to become master of coin Your Grace?”

The king gave a sad sigh. “Because the man is a coward and a brute. He abuses my sister daily, the only thing that gives her joy in their marriage is their children. Nothing else, I do this only so that Daenys can have some piece from the man, for I know that if she were to come to court and he were to abuse her, I would kill him before he knew what had hit him. Though some of those westermen may take it into their heads to then side with those cunts across the narrow sea. The West never truly forgave my grandfather for keeping Tybolt and Gerion Lannister hostage during the war.” Edwyle nodded then, understanding at once why the King disliked the Lannisters, if not his sister and her children, then her husband and his other relatives. The King changed the subject though before Edwyle could ask another question. “But enough about that. I must warn you Ed, you shall face opposition from some on the council and the High Septon, though I know, you probably already know this.” The king laughed at the surprised look on his face. “What you think I don’t know what you are? I have the sight myself, and so I know another one when I see one.”

* * *

 

The first four years of Edwyle’s reign as hand of the king were relatively peaceful, the small council did not completely object to his presence. Though how much that was due to fear out of his reputation, and the king’s own adamant insistence that he was worth ten of any southerner, he often wondered. Anna and Brandon thrived in the south, Anna with her love of songs and pageantry quickly ingrated herself with the princess’s circle of friends and followers, even becoming a bed companion to Princess Rhaenys before her wedding to Prince Maelor. During one small council meeting, the king mentioned perhaps betrothing Anna to Loren Reyne the heir to Castamere, for in his words ‘strengthening the ties between the north and south further’ and so it was that in 243 A.L., Anna Stark and Loren Reyne were betrothed to be married at a later date. Brandon, his energetic little boy, developed into a fierce swordsman, training with Prince Baelor and Prince Aenar, he learnt from the best of teachers in the knights of the Kingsguard, and some of the southerners began discussing betrothals for him with Edwyle despite the fact that his son was only eight years old.

There were of course royal weddings during this time as well. The eldest two sons of Prince Aegon of Summerhall, much like their father had before them, married for love, which though not uncommon caused quite a stir amongst the nobles of Westeros, especially when Prince Duncan the eldest child and heir of Prince Aegon married a common girl from the Riverlands by the name of Jenny of Oldstones. Their wedding took place in the Great Sept of Baelor, with the whole of the court in attendance, Prince Duncan was well loved amongst the commons, and his marriage to a commoner had led to much talk and gossip about the girl, the fact that she had brought a wood’s witch with her only added to the gossip, with some whispering that the girl had bewitched the prince into marrying her. Such talk was often said away from the ears of Prince Aegon and the king, for though both had allowed the wedding to take place, they would not tolerate slander of the family name.

Prince Jaehaerys wedding to Daenaerys Blackfyre, the daughter of one of the late Blackfyre pretenders caused even more scandal and gossip when it occurred late in 241 A.L. The story of Daenaerys Blackfyre was an interesting one, she had been born two years after her husband in 226 A.L. and had grown up in Tyrosh alongside her kin, but when her father the late Aegon Blackfyre, had led the attack on Westeros he had brought with him his daughter in the hopes of winning a marriage alliance with one of the lords disinclined with Brynden’s rule, with her father’s death, the girl had become a valuable hostage for the King, and he had acquiesced to his uncle’s request, and sent her off to Summerhall to be tended to by his cousin’s family. It was during this time that a young Jaehaerys began to come to understand and get to know the girl, who had at one point been a threat to his family, the two found an interest in one another and fell in love gradually, Jaehaerys refusal to marry one Joanna Crakehall, led to the King and Edwyle slanting the marriage with Daenaerys as one that untied the two Targaryen lines and hopefully ended the Blackfyre threat.  The fear of retribution that Brynden had had about that wedding was ended when in 242 A.L. a boy who was named Aerys was born to the couple.

Two years later, Princess Rhaelle, Prince Aegon’s only daughter married Tyrek Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End, a man whom through his use of the weirwood network and various other means Edwyle had kept an eye on, on his goodbrother’s insistence. The man was kind if not the most attentive of betrotheds, though Rhaelle seemed to be smitten with him, and the two had a child by the name of Steffon in 244 A.L. the last year that there was peaceful times in King’s Landing during the first decade of Edwyle’s tenure as Hand of the King.

As Brynden had predicted four years ago, the faith had gradually become less patient with him, though he cared not. He was devoted to his gods, and so had begun planting more and more weirwood trees in the godswood of the Red Keep and caring for them himself. What had gotten under the Faith’s skin was that according to Brynden, they believed that he was influencing the court away from godly practices of the seven and towards the more heathen and savage practices of the old gods, something that made Edwyle’s blood boil.

Things came to a head when some pious idiot in the streets of King’s Landing tried to throw things at him and his son when they were wandering around speaking with the commons. Fed up and angry with the bigoted ways of the Faith Edwyle spoke with Brynden and the High Septon was summoned from the Great Sept of Baelor to answer for what had happened. “Your Holiness, what was done to the hand was most unacceptable. Since the days of my ancestor Aegon the Dragon, Westeros has been a place of multi faiths and acceptance. Why has this suddenly changed?”

“Your, Your Grace. It has not changed, it is just that this man is having a bad influence on yourself and the court. Turning them to heathen ways and to the path to hell.” The high septon had stuttered.

Brynden had snorted, and Edwyle had coldly replied. “My gods give me peace Septon, I have not tried to convert anybody to anything. It is you and yours who have misconstructed my religiousness and taken it for something it is not. End this conflict now, or I swear you shall regret it.”

The High Septon seemed terrified then, and Brynden had burst out laughing. “You have heard him, end this foolishness now, or face death Septon. I know you, and your beliefs, end this foolishness, or I may need to look for a new High Septon.”

As if to prove his point, Brynden turned to Edwyle and said “My son and daughter’s wedding shall take place in the godswood. I do not want this idiot scampering on about heathenry and ruining their day.”

“As you will Your Grace.” Edwyle had replied. He had looked at the High Septon then and the man had gone running from the room.

The king slumped in his chair then, and Edwyle concerned asked. “Are you well Your Grace?”

His goodbrother looked up then, though his eyes seemed tired, and his skin seemed pale. “Aye Ed, I am, I am. The High Septon will stop his preaching I know, but at what cost I know not. My dreams do not tell me this, I cannot afford a war on all fronts. Lucereon Blackfyre will be marching soon for Westeros, and there are those who will try and use my nephew against me. Jaehaerys is loyal but he is weak, and his bride is ambitious.”

“Do you wish for me to look to the trees to see if there will be further trouble Your Grace?” Edwyle asked.

“No, do not bother Ed. What will come, will come. But we have a wedding to prepare for.” The king replied sounding older than his years.

Sure enough on the fifth day of the fourth month of the 245th year after Aegon’s Landing, Prince Maelor was wed to his sister Princess Rhaenys in front of the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep with the whole court and delegations from the Vale and the Stormlands watching. A daughter was born to them nine moons later, a girl they named Rhaena, though the child was born weak and sickly and died a few days after being born.

More children were born to the King and his Queen though, a balm of sorts for their grief over the death of their grandchild, a Prince Maekar born in 244 A.L. and a daughter a Princess Jaehara born in 246 A.L. the last of the King and Queen’s Children, and whose birth nearly cost the queen her life, and after that old Grand Maester Derryck decreed that it would not be safe nor wise for the King and Queen to have any more children.

In 248 A.L. a son was born to Prince Maelor and Princess Rhaenys, and they named the boy Aegyl. A grand celebration was held in honour of the prince’s birth, and Edwyle finally got to see his wife and eldest two children after eight years. Rickard, now a man grown at Twenty seemed grim and solemn, just like Edwyle had himself at that age, Melissa at twenty six had married and had a child of her own in the time he had been in the south, unable to attend his firstborn’s wedding due to some need in the capital.

A few days after the celebration feast, a raven arrived from Harrenhal asking if the King would be interested in betrothing his son Prince Baelor to Lady Taena Lothston, the heiress to Harrenhal and Lord Jarryck’s niece. Discussions were held and eventually it was decided that Baelor would be betrothed to the Lady Taena, though Baelor insisted on going to Harrenhal himself to court her properly. And so it was that on the first day of the new year in 249 A.L., Prince Baelor rode out from King’s Landing with Ser Gerold Massey of the Kingsguard and twenty other companions for Harrenhal and his bride to be, not knowing what waited for him ahead. Edwyle for saw pain on the horizon, though for whom he knew not, the dreams were not always specific.


	14. Lies and Deceit

**Prince Baelor**

The morning light peeked through the curtains of his room, and woke Prince Baelor Targaryen from his slumber. Beside him, his companion for the night mumbled something in her sleep and burrowed her head deeper into his chest, he laughed softly, it was so typical of her, she truly was a night time creature, and oh how much fun he had had with her last night. His last night of freedom, for today he would ride to Harrenhal to marry a girl he had never met before, and he would put children in this girl’s belly, and why? So that his father could further his hold over the Seven Kingdoms and ensure that the Lothstons did not rebel again should Lucereon Blackfyre be mad enough to try and land in Westeros.

Sighing softly Baelor ran a hand through Alys’s auburn hair, she was a lovely girl and she had been all his, ever since they had been little children she had always been his, and he had been hers. He could not remember how they had met, for it seemed to him now that she had always been there in his life for as long as he could remember, Alys had always been there, and he loved her deeply in his own way, despite what his father and his siblings might joke. It wasn’t fair, why did he have to marry some Lothston girl? Why had Maelor or even Rhaenys not been betrothed to someone from a powerful house to remove the threat of the Blackfyres completely? Why had they wed each other, when it was quite apparent that father loathed the idea of sibling incest that had been so common throughout their family’s history? Why was it that he, the second son, the one who stood not to inherit anything was not allowed to marry the girl he loved, and instead had to marry some girl for political reasons?

He understood it not, especially when uncle Aegon had allowed his own children to marry for love, though cousin Rhaelle had been married off to that drunken idiot Tyrek Baratheon, though for some reason she seemed to love him. Duncan had married that commoner, and Baelor’s father had not batted an eyelid about that, and so why had he ordered Baelor to set aside Alys and marry some stupid Lothston girl? He cared not if he would become Prince of Harrenhal once the current lord Lothston died, he wanted Alys, he loved Alys, and if Duncan could marry some commoner why couldn’t he marry Alys?

His father’s words came back to him then as he lay in bed running his hands through Alys’ auburn locks. _“This marriage to Jasmine Lothston is important Baelor, it will secure the realm even further, behind the Starks and the Lannisters the Lothstons are one of the most powerful houses in the realm right now. They rebelled for Daemon Blackfyre during the first rebellion, but have remained loyal to the throne since then, but I do not trust them, your marriage to Lady Jasmine will ensure Lord Derryck’s loyalty to the throne for years to come, and then when the man dies, you shall become a Prince of your own castle.” King Brynden had said in that voice of his that meant there was no room for argument._

_And yet Baelor had argued regardless. “But father, why me? Why must I marry into a house of traitors? Why did you not have Maelor marry the girl if you wished for House Lothston to remain more loyal to the throne? Surely old Lord Derryck would never have dared rebel had he known his grandson would be king?”_

_His father’s face had hardened at that. In a cold tone King Brynden had reprimanded his son. “Enough Baelor the match had been agreed you are betrothed to Jasmine Lothston and you shall wed her, bed her and fill Harrenhal with children to strengthen your hold on Harrenhal. And you shall stop fooling around with that serving girl, what is her name Anya?”_

_“Alys!” Baelor had nearly shouted. “And why? Why did you allow Duncan and Jaehaerys to marry whomever they wished and yet you will tell me to marry some shrew simply for political gain, when the one I love is Alys. She would make a finer princess than some Lothston traitor ever could!”_

_His father had gone deathly silent at that and Baelor knew that perhaps he had gone too far. “It was not my wish for Duncan and Jaehaerys to wed whom they did. But they are not my sons, and Aegon wished for them to know their hearts desires. You are my son, Maelor and Rhaenys are wed, I cannot change that now, nor would I. You on the other hand, you will do as you are told and wed Jasmine Lothston and be done with it. I do not wish to hear anymore about this, not from you nor from your brother or sister.” Baelor’s father had said softly._

_Baelor had bowed his head then and had said simply “At least allow me to meet the girl first.”_

His father had nodded his approval at that and now here he was the day of his departure to meet his betrothed and to get to know her a bit more before their wedding, and he found that he no longer wished to go to Harrenhal, if he could he would stay locked in Alys’ embrace, in her arms forever, his father be damned. But he was a Targaryen and he knew how to do his duty. Sighing he sat up and got out of the bed and made for the washroom, he got in and showered quickly and by the time he had gotten out of the shower dripping wet, Alys was up, looking at him with those lovely green eyes of hers, and he found himself growing hard almost instantly.

“Going to leave without even saying goodbye my prince?” Alys joked.

“Never, my love. I simply wished to get ready in case someone tried to take me away from you before I could say goodbye properly.” Baelor said before he came to the bed and made love to her. Once that was done, he put on his clothes, a black doublet and red cloak, Alys watched him from the bed her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Why don’t you look like a right little princeling?” She joked

Baelor sighed and said softly. “Alys you must rise and go before anyone sees you. It is early still, but soon two knights of the Kingsguard will be here, with my father no doubt. It would not do to have you here when they arrive.”

Alys’ amusement disappeared then and she frowned. “Trying to replace me already? Well I do suppose that that highborn girl will give you lots of pretty little children and I will just be some girl you fucked when you were angry with your father.”

Baelor was beginning to feel his anger grow at her words; he leaned over the bed and kissed her fiercely. “Never say that Alys my love. You know I love you with all my heart, and when Maelor is king I will find a way to be with you.”

Alys sighed then and said. “Very well my prince I shall leave you now, goodbye my love.” And with that she got changed back into her serving girl’s attire and left his room, leaving Baelor with a whole host of regrets and anger, anger at his father, at his brother and sister, and most importantly at those god damned Blackfyres.

He managed to straighten his doublet out so that by the time Ser Tywin Reyne and Ser Gerold Massey of the Kingsguard knocked on his door, he was dressed immaculately. He nodded to them and walked toward his father’s solar, where he found his father dressed in a simple black doublet and breeches as if he was a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch and not the King of Westeros, sitting opposite his father was the Hand of the King Edwyle Stark, internally Baelor shivered, there was something about the Hand that scared Baelor, it was as if Lord Stark could see right into his soul and knew its very contents, a felling that unnerved him deeply. His father looked up as Baelor entered the room, and smiled tiredly at him. “Ah good you are up. I trust Lady Alys enjoyed your last night together.” His father laughed at the shocked expression that was undoubtedly on his face at that moment. “Oh come now Baelor, I am your father as well as the king. I know what goes on in my household. It was good of you to say goodbye to her, at least you shall both have the memories. But now I must needs know that you will not try anything with the girl once you are wedded to Jasmine Lothston.”

“I shall not try anything with Alys once I am married father I swear to you on my honour as a Prince of the Iron Throne. Once wedded I shall be only dedicated to woman, my wife.” Baelor replied seriously.

“Good.” His father replied. “Ser Tywin and Ser Gerold shall both ride with you to Harrenhal, as will twenty of the gold cloaks. Once you arrive at Harrenhal send a raven to let us know. And when you make to move from Harrenhal and return home then you too should send a raven. Is that understood?”

“Yes father.” Baelor replied seriously.

“Good now off with you. You must leave now, if you wish to be there by the time I said you would be there.” The king said.

Baelor bowed and walked out of the solar, he said goodbye to his mother and siblings and his little nephew Aegyl who had just turned a year old. His father came down with the Hand and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Oberyn Dayne to see him  off finally. As he mounted his horse, his father whispered in his ear “Be wary of the Lothstons son, trust them not, rely on your instincts.”

Baelor nodded and once he had said a final farewell, he dug his spurs into his horse and rode off out of the courtyard of the Red Keep and out of the city toward Harrenhal and his betrothed. It took them roughly a week to reach Harrenhal in the nice summer weather, during that time Baelor came to better know Ser Tywin Reyne and Ser Gerold Massey. Reyne had been a part of his father’s Kingsguard for many years now, and was a fierce swordsman as Baelor found out during their late night duels as they stopped and rested for the night, he was also a rather quiet man, reserved by nature, whereas his sworn brother Massey was more extrovert and boisterous, Baelor got on well with him, Massey was only three years older than him and so they talked about much, girls, swords and knighthoods being the hot topics.

Eventually Harrenhal’s looming towers emerged in front of them dark and imposing. They were met by the captain of the castle’s guards one Ser Tristan Rivers, a big broad shouldered man who looked like a bull. He led them into the hall of a hundred hearths, where they found Lord Derryck Lothston sat rigid as a statue on his weirwood throne. “Greeting Your Highness,” Lord Lothston said in his waspish voice. “You will forgive me if I do not rise; my knees are not as strong as they once used to be.”

“Of course my lord, it is my honour that you have agreed for me to come and meet your daughter the Lady Jasmine.” Baelor replied. Running through all he knew of Derryck Lothston in his head, the man was the son of Danelle Lothston and some unknown lord whom she had never named, she had petitioned Baelor’s grandfather to have Derryck legitimised, and Baelor’s great uncle Brynden Rivers had agreed to do so. Derryck Lothston himself had married twice, his first wife had given him two sons both of whom had died fighting alongside Baelor’s father, and the second wife had given him only one daughter, the Lady Jasmine. Derryck Lothston was a deeply proud man, who bore insults and slights harder and longer than anyone else safe Walder Frey.

“Yes, yes all well and good. Lothar, bread and wine for the guests.” Lord Derryck bellowed a hunched man came forth with bread and wine, and Baelor and his companions ate and drank, with the guest right now there to protect them, Lothston spoke once more. “How long do you wish to spend at Harrenhal my prince? How long will it take you to know my daughter?”

Baelor swallowed not sure how to proceed with this. “A week maybe two at the most. I do not wish to overextend my welcome my lord.”

Lord Derryck made an odd noise at that. “My Prince you must stay for longer than that surely. How else will you get to know my daughter, and the people that you soon shall rule over when my time comes?”

Reluctantly Baelor agreed to stay for a moon’s turn, no longer. That night there was a feast and dancing. Baelor met his betrothed for the first time at that feast, Lady Jasmine Lothston was a beauty that much Baelor knew on first sight, she had lovely olive skin and lush dark black hair, and her eyes, gods her eyes were like a seduction, she moved as if her every move was a seduction, and Baelor found himself completely enraptured with her. “My Prince, how lovely to see you.” Lady Jasmine said as she curtseyed before him.

Baelor swallowed once, and then confidently said “You as well my lady. And may I say you look exceptionally lovely tonight.” He was delighted by the blush that crossed her cheeks at his words. They sat and talked throughout the night and danced as well, and by the end of the night Baelor came to find himself wondering why he had been so worried and against the match, his father obviously knew what he was doing. Lady Jasmine was fiery, and passionate and she was smart, he was able to have a conversation with her about just about anything that they chose.

The feeling only intensified over the month he was in Harrenhal in which he got to understand that underneath all her fire and passion there was a lady who was quite concerned with the welfare of her people and with ensuring there was enough for everyone, be it food or water or learning utilities. He kissed her two weeks into his stay at Harrenhal, usually he would not take so long to kiss a girl, but with her he found that he simply wished to take things slow and not rush anything, they would have their whole lives to get to know one another intimately. They had had a fair bit to drink at a feast one night where Lord Jarryck, Derryck’s brother and Baelor’s father’s master of whispers came to visit, Baelor saw the two men hunched over talking to one another throughout the feast though what they discussed Baelor found he could not care. Instead he drank and talked and danced with Jasmine and her friends, and listened raptly as her friends regaled him with stories of their adventures in the Riverlands, and he regaled them with the stories of what he and Maelor and Rhaenys had gotten up to as young children and even now as adults. He had walked her back to her rooms, when she turned round and kissed him square on the lips, he felt his arousal strongly, but he knew he could not do what he really wanted to do just yet, and it was with great reluctance that he broke the kiss.

He was not so strong during the feast that was held to say goodbye to Lord Jarryck who Baelor learnt was making his way back to King’s Landing, as he had been summoned by Baelor’s father to attend some urgent council business. At the end of the feast, Baelor and Jasmine were locked in each other’s arms kissing and groping each other as if their lives depended on it, and soon they stumbled back not to Jasmine’s rooms but to his own, any protests Baelor might have voiced- and they were few- about what they were about to do, died down the minute Jasmine removed her dress from her body in one swift motion to reveal herself naked. “I couldn’t wait, not for another two moons.” She said huskily.

Baelor said nothing only gathered her closer to him and kissed her harder, and faster as they fell toward the bed. He groaned as he entered her, and soon lost himself inside of her, cursing and moaning and groaning, both of them lost in the blissful feeling their coupling provided them. The next morning Baelor woke and found Jasmine gone, disappeared like a ghost into the night, he saw her not for the rest of his stay at Harrenhal and feared that perhaps she had told her father of what they had done. But it seemed not, for Lord Derryck told him that his daughter often sought some peace and quiet on the Isle of Faces around this time of year, for her “mother’s death.”

Baelor also spent some time with his future goodfather learning about the lands that he would soon rule over with Jasmine, he learnt which lords and knights sworn to Harrenhal could be trusted and which lords and knights would need to be brought to heel occasionally. “Of course as a Prince of the Blood, these lords will most likely be too scared shitless of opposing you or creating trouble for you.” Lord Derryck had grumbled. That had been two weeks ago, and Baelor had not ridden out with his future goodfather, and so was surprised when Lord Derryck said he would ride out with Baelor as far as the Ivy Inn. But he voiced no complaints, he kissed Jasmine goodbye and then rode out with his future goodfather and Ser Tywin Reyne and Ser Gerold Massey of the Kingsguard as well as the twenty other men they had come with, Lord Derryck brought with him some thirty men, for as he said “You can never be too sure whether or not some bandits might try and attack us on the way.”

They rode largely in silence, until the Ivy Inn came into sight on the horizon that was when Lord Derryck stopped his horse and indicated that Baelor should do the same. Curious as to what Lord Derryck wished to speak of, Baelor pulled up next to him and asked “My lord?”

Lord Derryck was silent for a moment before he spoke softly. “Your father is a good king my prince. Some might even say the best king since The Old King himself, despite the wars that have plagued his rule due to those bloody Blackfyre bastards. But there is one thing I must ask you my prince.”

“My lord?” Baelor asked, not entirely sure where the conversation was going.

“Does your father think I am a fool?” Lord Derryck asked his voice still soft.

“My lord? I don’t understand what you mean?” Baelor replied uncertainly.

“Your father, does he take me for a fool? I know exactly why he suggested this match between you and my daughter. He means to tie my closer to the Iron Throne so that I would not think to call my men to arms should Lucereon Blackfyre land in Westeros.” Lord Derryck says his voice getting louder.

“My lord was it not you who suggested the marriage?” Baelor asks confused now.

Lord Derryck laughed, adding to Baelor’s confusion. “Oh lords no, why on earth would I wish to marry my daughter, my heir to a son of a bastard such as you? Why would I marry my daughter into the line of the Falseborn, when I can marry her to the true prince of Dragonstone and have she be queen? No the marriage was Jarryck’s idea; he planted it in the mind of your father, so as to distract him from the invasion.”

“Invasion?” Baelor asked, turning around at the sound of leaves rustling in the distance.

“Aye Lucereon Blackfyre shall be invading soon, but your father will not know about  it until it is too late. And you shall not be there to warn him. Ser Tristan.” Lord Derryk bellowed.

And too late, Baelor realised they had been set up, Ser Tristan Rivers buried his sword deep into Ser Gerold Massey’s chest, and arrows began flying from the nearby trees, Baelor watched horrified as his men fell to their deaths around him, Ser Tywin Reyne was engaged in a fight with Ser Rivers but looked as if he would not make it out alive. Baelor tried to draw his sword, but an arrow through his right hand prevented him from doing so. Derryck Lothston laughed. “Now now my prince, its rude to die loudly. But die you shall.” And with that Baelor watched horrified as the man who would have been his goodfather drew forth a dagger, and as he tried to move off his horse, another arrow pierced his left hand and latched him to his horse, as Derryck Lothston moved his own mount closer to Baelor’s, there was a sadistic smile on the man’s face as he leaned in close to Baelor to whisper “The Black Dragon shall sit the Iron Throne, and I shall have my due.” Baelor screamed loudly as the dagger was plunged again and again into his stomach and chest, he was dead by the time the dagger was plunged into his heart. Baelor Targaryen second son of Brynden and Rowena Targaryen died on the third day of the third moon of the 249th year after Aegon’s Landing, three miles from the Ivy Inn. 


	15. Son Of The Dragon

**Maelor**

King’s Landing was in the grip of one of the hottest summers Maelor had ever known, one of the hottest summers in living memory, with some calling it the hottest summer, the long summer come at last. Maelor had mentioned this once to his father whilst Lord Edwyle had been present and both men had laughed, and said that the long summer was a long way away if it ever came. That was the one thing Maelor had never truly understood, how his father could trust a man such as Edwyle Stark. The man never gave away any sign of emotion and his face seemed to be carved of ice, in all the time he had been in the capital, Maelor did not think he had ever seen his uncle smile or laugh or cry, it was very unnerving, and made Maelor wonder just how well his father actually knew Lord Edwyle. Maelor was never able to tell whether Lord Stark was plotting to kill you or to save you from something, but given how much the man hated the south- oh he had never verbalised it, but Maelor could see it in the way that he acted around most of the nobility even some of Maelor’s cousins in Prince Duncan and Aelix, but never grandmother or father or even Rhaenys- he had asked his grandmother this question once, and she had merely smiled sadly and patted his hand and told him “They have grown up together the two of them, though Lord Edwyle was past forty when he was made hand and your father thirty, they have grown together in this time, that is how.” She would say nothing more and therefore Maelor did not press her about it.

Now, though Maelor watched from a place close by the Iron Throne as his father listened to the pleas of the smallfolk, who wanted more water for their crops, they wished for his father to deal with a small group of bandits that were causing trouble for them in the Kingswood. Maelor listened to all of those who came before his father, and watched as his father calmly and smoothly promised them that justice would be had for them, in fact he sent Ser Lucas Goodbrook of the Kingsguard along with fifty of the Goldcloaks to deal with the outlaws, and on and on it went until eventually the session was called to an end and as he did each time a session ended Maelor followed his father back to his chambers. This time his father seemed to be in much better spirits than the last time, when a man had come from the Vale begging for mercy from the justice uncle Jon was to be giving him for aiding the traitor Ser Loras Arryn, Maelor’s father had stared at the man, his face hard as stone as he sentenced him to death. Now though his father had a smile on his face and was cracking jokes with Lord Edwyle. Once they entered the solar and all three of them had sat down, his father turned to him and said “So what did you think of today’s session then Maelor?”

Maelor was silent for a moment as he considered how to phrase his words. “Interesting to say the least. These bandits though, they are not the first small group to appear in the Kingswood, there have been at least three other cases, and I know though the other three have been dispatched easily, it is a bit worrying that they keep reappearing is it not?”

Maelor saw his father look at Lord Edwyle then, the smile having gone from his face as he replied “Aye it is Maelor. Hopefully Ser Lucas and the Goldcloaks shall be able to find out what is causing so much unrest. And this issue with Ser Loras Arryn, that man will have to die soon, I will not have him brought to King’s Landing where he might try and speak with your mother.”

Maelor felt himself tighten in anger at the mention of Ser Loras Arryn, he still remembered when his father and mother had returned from Gulltown, without their sister Aelinor, how shaken his mother had been and how angry father had been. Neither of them spoke of it but, Maelor knew after speaking with Rhaenys that it had been mother’s old childhood friend who had been responsible for killing baby Aelinor, and that mother had been heartbroken at that. The man had fled Westeros rather than face the King’s Justice, and now he had come back again, or so that was what the rumours that Lord Jarryck told them said. He knew how angry his father was at the sign that the man was back, and he knew why his father did not wish for mother to know, knowing such a thing would destroy any semblance of peace and quiet that mother had found within the last few years looking after Aenar, Maekar, Jaehara and Maelor’s own son Aegyl. They could not afford to lose mother not again.

Maelor was about to reply to his father when there was a knock on the door and Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard reluctantly poked his head round the door. “Apologies Your Grace, but there is a boy here who says he has something very important to tell you.”

“Let him in.” Maelor heard his father say in that iron tone of his that indicated that his father knew what this boy wished to speak of.

Maelor was shocked when the boy entered, he was Baelor’s squire, a lean boy of about ten, from some small house in the Crownlands, and he appeared to have ridden hard and fast if the way he was panting and the state of his clothes were any indication. Had something happened to Baelor? Was that why his squire had ridden so hard for King’s Landing. It seemed his father wished to know as well. “Has my son sent you ahead because of an emergency lad?”

The squire took a deep breath before replying “No, no Your Grace, not Prince Baelor Your Grace. Ser Oswell Waters Your Grace from the Ivy Inn. There has been an emergency, riders in the woods, darkness, treachery.” The boy looked as if he was about to faint.

“What do you mean lad? Speak clearly.” Maelor demanded of him.

The boy panted once, took a deep breath before saying in one big go. “We were betrayed Your Grace. Prince Baelor was riding back with his men and Lord Derryck from Harrenhal to King’s Landing after having agreed to the betrothal, when the men attacked us. Men who were loyal to House Lothston Your Grace. And Lord Derryck, it was him who plunged the knife into Prince Baelor Your Grace. It was him who said that the whole betrothal had been a ruse. For the Black Dragon Your Grace.”

Maelor felt something inside of him go cold at that. His brother, his lively brother who he had always been close to dead? How, how could that be possible? “Are you sure? How do you know this if you are still alive?” He questioned more sharply than perhaps he intended.

“Because my Prince, they never looked twice at me. I managed to get away, the Prince told me to run when he realised what had happened see, and I hid behind the bushes as Lord Derryck said it all.” The lad replied.

“Very well. We thank you for this. You may go.” Lord Edwyle replied cutting in before Maelor could ask any more questions.

Maelor’s father was silent, very silent. Maelor feared something was wrong with him before the King spoke. “Maelor call Ser Gwayne and Ser Oberyn in here would you.” Maelor nodded and did as he was bid, there was a cold look in his father’s eyes as the king said. “Ser Oberyn, Ser Gwayne find Lord Jarryck and bring him here bound and chained. Brandon go and bring the Queen and my children here, Edwyle send the ravens to each of the Crownlords, and tell them I want them here by the end of the week. And tell Maester Justin to send ravens out to the Vale and Lord Tyrell, tell Tyrell I want his men to meet me on the Kingsroad. We shall be having war again soon.”

“Do you mean to march on Harrenhal father?” Maelor asked.

“Aye I do. It is time those traitors were taught what it means to betray the dragon. You and Lord Stark shall hold King’s Landing in my absence.”

After that Maelor sat and listened as his father told Maelor’s siblings about the death of their brother, he watched as his mother cried and cried and beat her hands against father’s chest, he watched as Aenar scrunched his hands in anger, and how both Maekar and Jaehara merely cried and cried until grandmother Aelinor embraced them tightly, all the while Rhaenys was gripping his hand tightly. Once that was done, and it was just Maelor and his father, his father turned to him and said “The Blackfyre will invade once he knows I am gone. You must hold your ground, hold King’s Landing at all costs. Jon should bring his men to the capital once he learns of what has happened. Under no circumstances are you to ride out and meet Lucereon Blackfyre in open combat. Do you understand me.”

“But father, I can take him, I can lead the army and defeat him.” Maelor protested hating how much of a boy he sounded when he said that.

“I know that. But still, you shall remain in King’s Landing until I return.” King Brynden said, and with that the argument was closed. Three days later Maelor watched as his father rode out of the city with 3,000 men from the Crownlands and two knights of the Kingsguard with him, Lord Jarryck had not been found more than likely fled across the narrow sea or to Harrenhal if he had fled before news reached them of Baelor’s death. Either way he was like to be dead before long.

The next few days past in a blur for Maelor, as Baelor’s body was brought back from the Ivy Inn where he had died, brought back by Ser Oswell Waters the man who owned the inn, a man who had fought many a battle beside Maelor’s father. Maelor watched in stone faced silence as his brother’s body was burnt upon the funeral pyre as was the Targaryen custom, his ashes sent to Dragonstone where they would rest till the end of time. He took his father’s place on the Iron Throne listening to petitions and the business of the small council when it was in session, and he did all of this to the best of his ability, but his heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to be out there with his father, fighting to avenge Baelor, his brother, his confidant, his closest friend. He didn’t want to be stuck in King’s Landing listening to bitter old lords argue about titles and land and coin. And he especially did not wish to be sat listening to Garon Lannister speak about money or the West one more time, he disliked this uncle of his with a passion. The man was a craven, a coward and a bully, the only reason his head had not been mounted on a spike yet was because Maelor’s father loved his sister Daenys and knew that killing her husband would upset her deeply, despite the fact that the man beat her and humiliated her. Maelor knew that once he became king, Garon Lannister had better pray that he did nothing stupid, otherwise his head would be mounted on a spike in King’s Landing, no one, no one ever beat a member of his family.

Two weeks after his father had left for the capital, they received a raven from Lord Robar Baratheon, the Blackfyre pretender had landed and had captured the castles in the Rainwood. A plea for help was what the letter from Lord Robar was, and despite his father and uncle’s warnings, his father was still in Harrenhal and had not been heard from, and Maelor had told his uncle that he would be coming with him, Maelor called the banners and began to march for war. It was time to end the Blackfyre threat once and for all.


	16. The Cry Of The Black Dragon

**Lucereon**

Sometimes it felt like his life  before Tyrosh had been just a dream, the stories he had grown up hearing of Highgarden, the Reach and King’s Landing, it all seemed like some sort of fairytale. And yet his father and brothers and even his nephew had died for that fairytale, for something that he couldn’t remember and that his son had never seen before. Sometimes he questioned why he was still fighting for the Iron Throne, what could he really want from it truly, if it was his by right then surely the Lords of Westeros would have overthrown the Targaryens long ago and welcomed him and his family back like the royalty his uncle Bittersteel and others like Robb Reyne had always claimed they were. The fact that the lords of Westeros had not done this only served to confuse Lucereon even further.

He had been too young to fight for Haegon or so his uncle and brother had said, they had kept him back in Tyrosh whilst they went and fought against the Targaryens, from the commanders who had been there since he was a child only Robb Reyne returned battered and bruised, Haegon and Bittersteel lay somewhere in the ground in the Crownlands. Then Maegon invaded Westeros and Lucereon had gone with his brother, by that point he had fought in many battles in the Disputed Lands alongside his brothers in arms in the Golden Company and had married, Maegon fell slain by Maekar Targaryen. His mother’s heart continued to break her health began to fail, and then when Aegon invaded Lucereon came with him and watched as Brynden Targaryen the new king cut him down to pieces.

Why he was still planning on invading he knew not, he only knew what he had been taught from a young age. The Targaryens were wrong, his father had been the rightful king and with his brothers and nephew dead it was his duty to ensure the line of House Blackfyre sat on the Iron Throne and so he had begun planning an invasion of Westeros. Before he could think about where the Golden Company would land, he realised that they would need the alliance of some of the princely states in Essos, none of the great houses and more important lesser houses would rise for him, they were all too scared of Brynden Targaryen and Edwyle Stark, but still there would be those who for the right price could be brought over to his side.

That was how he had brought the allegiance of the Prince of Pentos, the Golden Company famed for never breaking a contract had taken up a contract some three years ago to fight for Pentos against Meeren, the Company had been victorious with Lucereon himself slaying the commander of Meeren’s forces, the Prince of Pentos had been in his debt since that day. The Prince had been more than willing to pay off that debt, and so had called in a few favours with his friends in Lys and Bravos send their best fighters, 500 men had turned up under the command of one Sorroq Ma Lazah, Lucereon had thanked the Prince for that and had taken those men as well as the Golden Company to pay a visit to the chieftains of Myr, all of whom had owed the Golden Company a debt of some sort over the years. One thing that Lucereon appreciated about his brother’s Maegon was that Maegon had quite intimidated the nobles of the Free Cities, what with his size and formidable reputation, the nobles of Essos had learnt to fear the coming of the Golden Company, and so had been more than willing to give men to Lucereon when he asked, each chieftain gave roughly 500 men each which considering there were five of them equalled some 2,500 men a hefty addition to his army. Next had been a visit across the Velvet Hills and the Whispering Grass to Norvos, where the High Magister had barred the gates of the city and sent one of his bearded priests out challenge Lucereon to single combat, the priest might have been big and fierce, but he lacked discipline for single combat and had been killed easily, the Magister opened his gates and some 500 Bearded Priests swelled the ranks of Lucereon’s army.

That done, Lucereon decided to head back to Tyrosh with an army numbering 14,000 strong, still not enough if he wished to conquer Westeros as his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror did, for unlike the Dragon he did not have dragons.  Instead he had to rely on old family loyalties to sow some sort of discord within Westeros, Robb Reyne an old and grey man now, closer to eighty than seventy still had friends in Westeros who wished to seat a Black Dragon on the throne. That was how Jarryck Lothston had come to work for Bloodraven, the Lothstons had betrayed Lucereon’s father at Redgrass but had been treated disgracefully by the Targaryens since, Jarryck worked under Bloodraven’s tutelage and learnt many of the man’s secrets and spies, it was he who suggested the idea of marrying off Prince Baelor to his niece Jasmine in order to remove Baelor from the game. That done, King Brynden would have no choice but to march on Harrenhal, leaving the city in the hands of his son the green boy Prince Maelor and a hand who not many people trusted let alone liked.

Still going straight for King’s Landing would be too risky, they needed to go for a region that was experiencing some vulnerability at present, Dorne was too strong, and too close to the Pirate King’s domain to allow for it to be captured successfully, the Vale was too mountainous and treacherous. The Westerlands held no Blackfyre loyalists anymore, and the north was too barren a wasteland to be of much use. No it would have to be the Stormlands, Robar Baratheon the Lord of Storm’s End was an old man closing in on sixty now, no longer able to wield his war hammer as effectively as he had once been able to, his son and heir Tyrek Baratheon was a green boy who had been born late in his father’s life, married to Rhaelle Targaryen, dreaming of glory, Storm’s End would stay out of the conflict so long as it was not threatened, its lands though and its bannermen would be.

Looking at a map of the Stormlands, Lucereon had decided where they would begin their invasion. Summoning the commanders of his army he pointed at Estermont Island and said “Here, we shall capture Estermont and begin our invasion from there.” His men had nodded their approval, his son seemed eager for battle, two headed Maelys surely a curse from the gods for their continued insistence on fighting and bleeding Westeros.

Robb Reyne old, brittle and dying though had coughed up a question. “Will that not draw too much attention to our plans though and raise suspicion if we invade before Harrenhal?”

Lucereon had smiled and had merely replied. “Oh but we shall wait, Lord Estermont is an old man and dying, we shall take his castle and then we shall take his lands. And Robar Baratheon will not stop us.” They had set sail and taken Estermont without a fight, Lord Estermont had died during their voyage and his son Elmar was a practical man who realised when a cause was futile. Sat in Estermont castle Lucereon had plotted and planned his next move, he had known that they would need to work quickly before Storm’s End got wind of their movements and so ordering the force split up, the might of the Golden Company came with him all 10,000 of them, the 500 from Lys as well, whilst the 500 from Pentos were sent under the command of Lucereon’s brother in law Matarys Mopatis to capture Mistwood and the 3,000 men from Norvos and Myr were sent to take Stonehelm.

The ships sailed from Greenstone, and Lucereon and the Golden Company bloodlessly took Rain House, bloodlessly for them at least, the castle’s garrison numbered some 20 men the rest were all off dealing with some man calling himself the Vulture King in the Dornish Marches. Rain House, Mistwood, Estermont and Stonehelm all belonged to them by the time Lucereon received a report from his second in command Daven Rivers that a force was marching from King’s Landing made up of men from the southern Riverlands and half the city watch of King’s Landing. That was when Lucereon smiled and sent a raven to a friend in Starpike ordering him to begin marching on King’s Landing, and sent another raven ordering the men in Stonehelm to begin marching toward Griffin’s Roost, they would take Prince Maelor in the rear.

Two weeks after the ravens were sent, Lucereon and his men the Golden Dragons they had named themselves, the fools, were camped in Rainwood Forest waiting and watching. Prince Maelor had marched from King’s Landing with the Hand of the King Edwyle Stark and some 10,000 men, more men than Lucereon had expected him to have. From what his sources had told him Prince Aegon and Prince Duncan of Summerhall were busy fighting alongside the Dornish lords trying to quell the bandit Vulture King and his 200 followers, a tricky campaign if rumour were to be believed given that the man was said to be a native of Summerhall after all. Lords Cafferen, Grandison and Fell had marched with Prince Aegon, meaning that Prince Maelor was most likely marching with the city watch all of the Hand’s Guard and perhaps a few of the Stormlords in the northern part of the region, soon enough they would know.

“Prince Maelor has been sighted Your Grace, on the outskirts of the forest.” Ser Daven Rivers reported.

Lucereon nodded and replied “Good, tell the men to saddle up, we shall wait for the boy here.”

Maelor was a green boy with no experience in warfare though his father was a brilliant commander, which was why Lucereon knew he had brought Stark with him, the man was a fierce warrior and commander and likely would try and keep Maelor in line. However, Maelor was Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne and would more than likely wish to prove himself, and Lucereon would use that against him, by luring him into a trap. “ Matarys and the Pentoshi are ready Maelys?” Lucereon asked his son and heir.

Maelys huge head nodded and his son’s deep voice sounded from his helm. “Yes father, uncle Matarys has his archers lined up on the ridge in the entrance to the forest waiting for the signal.”

Lucereon nodded, and then waited and waited before he heard the sound of the elephants trumpeting, drawing his sword from its scabbard he sounded the attack and so the Battle of Rainwood Forest began. Hacking and slashing, Lucereon cut down men left, right and centre, the only thing he had ever truly been sure of in his life was fighting and here he was doing it once more. A cut here, a duck there, a slash in the centre and the enemy continued to fall down around him, the ground soon became littered with the bodies of his foes.

His sword was stained with blood when he came face to face with Prince Maelor, he knew it was the prince of Dragonstone by the boy’s armour, black as night with rubies encrusted in it to make the shape of the three headed red Targaryen dragon. Lucereon said not a word, but cut down more foes to get closer to the Prince, and when their swords clashed, steel screeched on steel and the dance began once more. Hacking, slashing, ducking and dodging, on and on the dance went both men swinging their swords to the point of exhaustion neither able to land more than a single cut on the other, before they would break contact and wheel their horses away to come back and try anew.

The Targaryen prince swung his sword aiming for Lucereon’s neck, but Lucereon managed to lift his sword up in time to block the blow, and retaliated with a few quick swings of his own, a hack that dented the boy’s left shoulder plate, a swing that chipped his helm, a cut that pierced through the armour above his heart. On and on the dance went, swinging, hacking and cutting until Lucereon finally decided that enough was enough, he had gauged all he could from the boy and had found him lacking, he swung once knocking the boy’s sword out of his hand, and with a bellowed command a score of arrows reigned down near them, one of which hit the boy’s horse, knocking him down to the ground. Lucereon dismounted from his horse and walked toward the boy with his sword raised, all the while neither man uttered a single word.

The fighting still raged around them, but for Lucereon it was if time had stopped, somewhere deep inside of him some part of him was screaming for him to get back on his horse and ride as hard as he could for the ships, another part was screaming for him to get this over with already and to kill the boy. He whispered “Valarr Morghulis.” Before he brought the sword down and pierced Maelor Targaryen’s throat, thrusting the sword deeper and deeper until the boy no longer choked on his own blood, not a sound came from Maelor’s throat or mouth. He was dead, victory seemed guaranteed and yet Lucereon felt very hollow, so very hollow.

As he stood looking at Maelor Targaryen’s lifeless corpse, Lucereon felt numb, surely he should feel a sense of justice, a sense of triumph, he had just gotten rid of another potential rival to his and his children’s throne, and yet something inside of him simply could not compute that with what he saw, a young man who had lost his life to early. Around him the battle still raged, the battle to ensure he and Maelys after him could sit an ugly iron chair, is that why his father had rebelled all those years ago, so that he could condemn his children to a life of feeling numb and empty? He knew not, he only knew now that he could not be bothered to fight anymore, but he would have to, he had started this and he would see it to the end.

As if on cue, he saw men carrying the banners of House Stark riding fast towards him, he tiredly lifted his sword and raised it to defend himself as one of the men swung at him, Lucereon blocked the blow and instead pushed hard enough to knock the man to the ground. Another man swung at him, Lucereon ducked the swing and stabbed the man’s horse killing it, blood pooled from the horse’s neck when he pulled his sword out of it. A third man swung his sword over Lucereon’s head and then brought it down before Lucereon could duck, he felt the blow hit the back of his helm with such force that he felt his knees give way and he dropped to the ground stunned.

 

Through the clanging in his head and his increasingly blurry vision he saw a man wearing blue armour dismount, wielding a sword that shined like ice in the fading sunlight. The man had dark brown hair and a beard that was beginning to grey. “Lucereon Blackfyre, pretender to the throne and killer of young men. Your army has been defeated, you shall die now. I Edwyle Stark Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, in the name of Brynden Targaryen first of his name King of the Seven Kingdoms, do sentence you to die. Is there anything you would say before your death?”

Lucereon coughed and noticed blood was flowing down his lips by the tangy taste in his mouth, the man had hit him harder than he thought. “Only that the war continues, even now a host is marching from the Reach to take King’s Landing in my son’s name.”

Stark sighed, and said “Force his head down.” Lucereon felt his head get shoved onto a stump, he heard the drawing of a sword, and then he closed his eyes and prayed his son would be successful or at least would be spared from death. He was praying when Ice came down on his neck and cleaned his head off of his body.

On the seventh day of the seventh month of the 249th Year After Aegon’s Landing, Lucereon Blackfyre the last of Daemon Blackfyre’s sons was killed, executed on orders of Hand of the King Edwyle Stark, during the Sixth Blackfyre rebellion, the same day Lucereon had killed Prince Maelor Targaryen.


	17. Stark

**Edwyle**

Lucereon Blackfyre was dead, but the battle of Rainwood Forest still went on. His men, men of the Golden Company, men of the Free Cities continued fighting. Maelys Blackfyre still lived, was somewhere in this godforsaken forest fighting and killing loyal men, Edwyle knew that if he could get to Maelys or get one of his men close enough to Maelys they might be able to end the Blackfyre threat once and for all. Ice was still drawn; glistening red with blood of a hundred foes, turning to Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the Kingsguard Edwyle said “Find me Maelys Blackfyre alive or dead.”

“Yes my lord hand.” Ser Gwayne replied before he mounted his own horse and rode off in search of the last male Blackfyre. Edwyle glanced down once more at the lifeless body of Lucereon Blackfyre the last of Daemon Blackfyre’s sons and shivered slightly. He walked back to his own horse and got onto it, spurring the horse on through the carnage.

The men of the Golden Company were still fighting, they had formed some sort of a defensive position around each other, a circle if you will, perhaps hoping to trap Edwyle or one of the other lords in it and kill them. Edwyle was not going to fall for that, he swung his sword ferociously and cut his way through the lines, soldier by soldier, piece by piece until there were no more men left in the circle, all of them lying dead and unseeingly on the ground before him. Turning to his daughter Anna’s betrothed and his own squire Edwyle said “Loren can you see Ser Gwayne anywhere.”

His squire, a big lad even at fifteen stood up in his stirrups and said “No my lord I can’t.”

Edwyle frowned, where was Ser Gwayne, had he fallen prey to Maelys the Monstrous, or was he dead killed by some foreign savage? Willam Cassel answered his unanswered question for him. “I see him my lord, Ser Gwayne in the white his trying to fight his way back towards us, he’s got five men facing him.”

He’d never make it back to them alive, Ser Gwayne was good, but even he could not fight five men at once and survive. “Follow me we must get to him.” It was likely Ser Gwayne had found Maelys and these men were trying to prevent him from getting close to him. Edwyle swung Ice forwards and backwards, hacking and slashing his way through the men of the Golden Company, he barely heard their screams and cries of pain, all he saw was a field of red and the inane desire to get to Ser Gwayne before another good man died needlessly in this conflict.

The soldiers of the Golden Company seemed to realise what Edwyle was about for soon arrows were reigning down on them, Edwyle by some luck of the gods managed to avoid most of the arrows though one or two of them brushed past his armour causing dents to it, other members of the party riding with him were not so lucky. Willam Cassel was pierced by a dozen arrows through the face and chest respectively, his horse was pierced by a dozen arrows as well crushing the man. Jonos Waters Ser Oswell’s son was littered with arrows through the throat and neck; he died falling of his horse blood gurgling from his mouth. Many more of the men continued to die, but still Edwyle pushed them on, hacking his way through those who stood in his path. Getting to Ser Gwayne Gaunt and possibly Maelys was the objective of this charge.

Just as they were about to get close enough to Ser Gwayne and his assailants, another ring formed around them, twenty warriors dressed in the black and white of the bearded priests of Norvos stood before them, their hulking mass and battle axes plain to see. Edwyle sighed and led the charge once more, ducking and dodging the priests’ swings and slashes at them. Though one of the bastards managed to strike him on the helm nearly dazing him, that was soon rectified when Edwyle cut the man’s throat open with Ice. They fought for what seemed like hours, the priests swinging their axes, Edwyle and his companions either ducking and dodging or blocking the swings, or retaliating with swings, thrusts and parries of their own, so that by the time the Bearded Priests fell down to the ground dead or bleeding to death, they were all covered in dents and scratches, but Edwyle could not see any sign of Ser Gwayne Gaunt, had the man been overwhelmed or had he been captured?

It was Loren who spotted the man first. Pointing it out to Edwyle with a loud “Lord Stark!” Edwyle followed the boy’s gaze and saw horrified as the men who had attacked Ser Gwayne Gaunt danced around his corpse, his white cloak covered in blood, his body littered with a dozen types of scars and bruises all of which were bleeding. The man was dead and yet Edwyle knew that these men would likely know where Maelys was, raising his sword high into the air he let loose a terrifying battle cry and charged forward. He swung to his left and his right and cut down the men who were dancing around the former white sword’s body, his companions cut down those men who came to try and aid their fellow traitors.

When only one man was left alive in that little group Edwyle had his men point their swords at him and questioned him with a cold voice. “Maelys where is he?”

The man was beaten and bloody, his armour was broken and his eyes were swollen and yet still he had a defiant air about him. “Why should I tell you that Stark?”

“Because your death will be much more painful unless you do.” Edwyle replied still in the same cold tone.

The man laughed then and said through a mouthful of blood. “Pah, threaten me all you like. Torture me, but that will not bring you Maelys. He has already set sail for Tyrosh by now. He was never here my lord of Stark. It was all a ruse to lure you away from the main threat.”

Edwyle had put his sword closer to the man’s throat but stopped at his last words. “The main threat? You mean the host marching toward King’s Landing?” He thought that had just been a lie told by Lucereon to distract him. “How many men are marching for King’s Landing and who leads them?”

The man laughed once more. Blood continuing to flow from his mouth making his words hard to understand. “Lord Torman Peake my lord of Stark, with 12,000 men made up of men from the Reach and the Yronwoods. They should be in the Kingswood by now, and your king will never make it back in time to defend his throne.”

Edwyle felt his blood go cold at that. “Kill him.” He said to his men and then he turned his horse towards their camp and rode hard. Once back at camp he found Tyrek Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End lounging in his tent, a cup of wine in one hand and a whore in the other. Edwyle gave the man a cold look before speaking. “I trust we won and the rest of the pretender’s men are dead then?”

Tyrek Baratheon at least had the decency to blush scarlet. “Yes my lord hand, enemy defeated and rousted and killed just as you ordered. Some of the men captured have spoken of a march by the enemy on King’s Landing is it true?”

Edwyle merely nodded trying to think of how best to get the men marching at their fastest speed without killing them all. Baratheon spoke once more “Then we should march at once my lord hand.” Edwyle noted with some amusement that Tyrek Baratheon had sounded just like his father in that moment, Robar Baratheon had always been eager for a fight, always picked one and had always one.

Soon enough their host, which had numbered 8,000 at the start of the battle and now numbered some 3,000 men marched from the Rainwood Forest as quickly as possible. They passed through the Stormlands marching during the day and most of the night, stopping only for a few hours rest. With that done they marched at an even faster pace, though Edwyle could feel the pain of his wounds open up a fresh everytime he mounted his horse or moved his legs and arms, and all the while there was the panic about what the man had said about Brynden being unable to make it back to help defend King’s Landing in time, did that mean the king was dead?

He shook such thoughts from his head, as the Kingswood came closer into view. He ordered scouts and outriders to go up ahead of them to scout out just how many men were camped in the Kingswood and what the situation was closer to the city. Three days later one of the scouts returned, a look of pure panic on his face. “My lord hand, there are 10,000 men camped within the main part of the Kingswood forest, and some 500 men whom look like Pentoshi are camped close to the southern gate of the city.”

Edwyle nodded and then turned to Cedrik Storm the bastard of Bronzegate and said “Ser Cedrik I want you to lead 200 men towards the heart of the Kingswood close to where these traitors are camped and I want you to engage in a game of chase with them, lead them close to the Wendwater and their mounts will drown.”

Ser Cedrik looked pale at Edwyle’s words but he merely nodded and rode off to chose his men. Edwyle thought once more about something he had heard his goodbrother say to him, _“The lords of the south are scared witless of you Edwyle. They think you are some sort of shadow demon come to haunt and kill us all.” Edwyle had been none to surprised about that even some of his bannermen were petrified of him. “And what of you Your Grace, are you scared of me?” he had asked his goodbrother. His goodbrother had stared at him for a long moment before replying. “No, if I had been you would have been dead long ago.”_

Sometimes being feared was a good thing, other times it was a hindrance, but it was something he had striven to teach both of his sons Rickard and Brandon and even his squire Loren. To be feared and to be respected was much more important than being loved, if they were not family, their love was not necessary, their respect and loyalty was. Shaking his head to take his mind away from such thoughts, he spoke once more “Loren, send for Ser Almond Goodbrook.”

When the boy returned with said Goodbrook, the man looked pale the sign of the battle previously fought still evident by the amount of blood and dirt on his usually immaculate armour. Edwyle looked at him and then said “ I have sent Ser Cedrik to lead 200 men into the heart of the Kingswood to draw the enemy out. When you see the sign of him close to this outpost, you are to sound your war horn and the battle will begin.”

The man nodded and rode away likely to get his horn and a wench to pass the time. They waited a long time in silence, before the sound of hooves could be heard coming close towards them, Ser Goodbrook had returned by that point and Edwyle nodded to him and the horn was blown, Edwyle drew his sword and let loose a battle cry before the charge began. It was a bloody battle, hacking and slashing; the trees of the Kingswood provided much cover for both sides allowing for sneak attacks and lots of bodies to be left strewn on the ground, which sucked their blood up eagerly.

Edwyle found himself facing close to five opponents at the same time for most of the battle, hacking and slashing, ducking and dodging. Doing all he could to remain alive, he hacked and slashed and watched as another body fell to the ground dead, the person’s blood splattered on his sword and armour only for another man to take the other’s place. There were too many of them, it was likely that they would lose this battle and the city would fall, but Edwyle was determined that they would not just walk into the city.

Rallying his men once more, he charged against the enemy again and again, shattering their defences with swords, spears and arrows, but more and more of his own men continued to die, whilst another man seemed to step in for the enemy. Edwyle felt himself beginning to tire, blood was beginning to pour out of his wounds, and the world was beginning to go hazy, black was replacing the colour of the world, still he fought bringing down more men with him, as he slouched down in his horse, he swore he saw the banner of House Osgrey and House Webber coming towards them with the sound of a thousand hooves following them, Ser William Osgrey had come to answer his king’s call to arms perhaps.

Edwyle felt as if he was having an otherworldly experience as he watched Osgrey and his men attack the rebel Reacher lords, it seemed as if the loss of blood was starting to get to his head. Osgrey was cutting through men like they were nothing more than paper. They were winning this, rallying his men and trying to ignore the pain stabbing him in the side, Edwyle raised Ice high into the air one last time and led what would later be known as the final charge of the Kingswood, a mad dash against the shields and swords of Lord Peake’s own forces, Edwyle killed Peake in the charge, slashing his head off with Ice and sending it flying into the Wendwater according to story.

With Peake and most of the main commanders in Lord Yronwood, Lord Ambrose, Lord Costayne and Lord Appleton dead the remaining soldiers surrendered and the city of King’s Landing was saved as the 500 Pentoshi soldiers seemingly faded into the mist once Edwyle had recovered enough to order a search of the southern gates. King’s Landing cheered Edwyle Stark and Ser William Osgrey as it had never cheered their houses before, celebration was long and hard as the small folk and the nobles alike cheered their new heroes who had saved them from almost inevitable defeat.

The celebratory attitude died down somewhat when King Brynden returned from Harrenhal, a changed man, a broken man. His son’s death had been avenged House Lothston had been put completely to the sword, not a soul was spared, and it was as if the king wanted to make it so that it was as if the house had never existed in the first place. Harrenhal was granted to Lord Desmond Whent and his heirs for the rest of time immemorial. Prince Maelor and Prince Baelor were cremated and buried in the crypts of Dragonstone as befitting the Targaryen tradition, and a period of mourning was decreed for seven days and nights the people of King’s Landing mourned the passing of two of their young and promising princes.

Jarryck Lothston was replaced as master of whispers by Gormon Rivers a bastard from the Riverlands, whispered to be Lord Tully’s bastard son, but never proven. Loren Reyne was knighted by Edwyle for the valour he showed in battle and his marriage to Anna Stark took place in the Great Sept of Baelor. To replace the three knights of the Kingsguard who had fallen during the sixth Blackfyre war, their names being Ser Gerold Massey, Ser Tywin Reyne and Ser Gwayne Gaunt, came Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Lewyn Martell and Edwyle Stark’s youngest son and the youngest knight ever to be raised to the Kingsguard Ser Brandon Stark, knighted after capturing and killing Jarryck Lothston himself.

It took three months before the dust settled on the sixth but not the last Blackfyre rebellion. Three months in which Edwyle and Brynden rebuilt the realm and tried to deal with the scars that had come from this new war, three months in which the king came closer to discovering certain truths that had been kept hidden from him for so long.

It came to a head one night, after a council meeting, the King, Edwyle and Queen Dowager Aelinor were sat in the King’s chambers discussing some affairs of state when the king changed the topic and straight as you like asked “I wish to know more about my uncle Prince Maekar, who better to tell me than my mother and his squire. And I want to know what happened between you and him mother.”

Edwyle looked at Queen Dowager Aelinor, and felt cold all over, the moment he had dreaded had finally arrived.


	18. This Secret That I

**King Brynden I Targaryen**

“I wish to know more about my uncle Prince Maekar, who better to tell me than my mother and his squire. And I want to know what happened between you and him mother.” Brynden says, and the words echo around the room for a long time, the silence becomes deafening and he can see the looks of apprehension on both his mother and Edwyle’s faces.

“Brynden, sweetling..” his mother begins.

“I have a right to know mother. If not as your king, then as your son. Before he died, uncle Maekar said that there were things, secrets that he needed to tell me. I would hear them from you now.” Brynden says firmly.

Brynden sees his mother look to Edwyle with an almost pleading look on her face, and he feels his anger begin to boil, what could possibly so bad as to warrant such a look. Edwyle to his credit, keeps his own face largely expressionless when he speaks. “It would do well for him to know Your Grace. Maekar is dead as is Aerys and Bloodraven; it is time he knew the truth.”

It is clear that that was not what his mother wished to hear, still when she sighs, Brynden tenses with expectation, the words that come next from his mother will leave him confused for some time. “Very well then. As you know myself and your father never loved each other, we loved and cared for each other as siblings do, but there was nothing more there between us. Myself and Maekar, however, we, we always were more than siblings to one another, there was a sort of connection there between us from the moment Maekar was born, it was like we were meant to be with one another.” Brynden feels his brain begin to spin as the implication of what his mother is saying hits him. His mother continues, it seems as if speaking now is all she can do. “We loved each other in a way a man and his wife loved one another, throughout our childhood, even after we were both wed to other people we still loved one another. But of course, Maekar had children with our cousin, whilst I was left in a cold and barren bed for many years following my wedding to Aerys.”

“But you were not left without children for very long were you not mother? After all even if you did not love one another, you and father managed to get round to siring heirs, otherwise myself and my siblings would not be here, now would we?” Brynden asks, hoping against hope his mother will confirm that and not what he thinks is the real reason for his existence.

His mother sighs then and says softly. “No sweetling, my father and I... we never consummated our marriage, on our wedding night your father went to sleep before I had even gotten undressed, and each night afterwards for ten years the same thing happened. And then father fell ill and Baelor with him, and it looked like Aerys might be in line for the throne. The kingdom was laughing at our family, and Maekar’s wife had just died, and well one thing led to another, and then Daenys was born.”

Brynden feels something in his stomach drop then. “What do you mean mother? How, what how?” he stutters.

His mother smiles sadly at him then. “When Maekar came to court on our father’s orders, his wife had just died and well, we were both feeling very, very vulnerable, and one thing led to another and soon enough we rekindled our relationship. And nine moons later Daenys was born.”

Brynden simply stares at his mother, and then asks in a voice so chocked he’s surprised anyone can hear him. “So Daenys is uncle Maekar’s daughter? Not father’s? What of Myriah and myself?” He wants to ask about Aenar, the brother who died before he was born, but he knows still even though his mind is spinning that to bring such memories up would be counterproductive.

His mother sighs then. “Yes you are all Maekar’s children as well. Not Aerys, Aerys never lay with me in all the years we were married. Maekar did though, and I am grateful that he did for I had three beautiful children whom I love and cherish very much.”

Brynden’s ears are ringing, his head is spinning. He is not who he thought he was, he is not the son of the book king, but of his uncle, the man he grew up idolizing. “How...why? That, that is treason what you and uncle Maekar did. Treason, I am not, we are not? How?”

His mother goes to comfort him and he recoils from her, his mind still spinning. Aelinor speaks then. “You are trueborn Brynden. Maekar wanted you on the throne, Aerys wanted you on the throne. If Maekar had become king afterwards, well there would have been more revolt than there is now. The lords and the commons love you sweetling.”

Brynden merely stares at his mother then and then his voice rises in volume, his anger coming to the fore. “You lied to me mother! You have made my life a lie. I grew up believing that I was the son of a weakling, a man who never paid me any attention. You have made my sisters lives lies as well. Daenys was sold off to a brute who hurts her because she was a princess, when she could have wed her knight, the knight who always loved her, still loves her. And all so you could carry on with uncle Maekar? Why mother? Why?”

“Sweetling.” His mother says.

“No, I will not hear any excuses mother.” Brynden interrupts her. “Your actions made me king, because of that, two of my sons now lie in the ground, my wife was kidnapped by a mad man. And did you and Maekar not think about what you were doing? We have spent the past fifty years fighting the descendants of a legitimised bastard because Aegon the Unworthy was a cunt and could not keep it in his pants. Did you not think that something like this could happen once more? Perhaps I should abdicate now and give all this god damn responsibility to Aegon, let him be king.”

That is when Edwyle speaks, his goodbrother who had remained quiet throughout speaks then with such ferocity it startles both Brynden and his mother, who has begun to cry silently. “No.”

Brynden looks at his hand and says. “What do you mean no?”

Edwyle looks at him then, his eyes hard when he speaks. “You cannot abdicate Your Grace. I know that what you have learnt has been a great shock to you.” Brynden snorts derisively at that. Edwyle continues. “However, you cannot abdicate. Surely you are not so blinded by your emotions to not see what sort of consequences your abdication and your cousin coming to the throne could have for House Targaryen and Westeros as a whole? The man wed for love, as have his children, the nobles would never accept Prince Duncan as their king so long as he is wed to that commoner. And Jaehaerys is wed to a Blackfyre; we cannot let them know what you now know. Furthermore, your abdication would raise questions, and then there is of course what that would mean to your mother, and that is something I cannot allow. Maekar wanted you to be the king not himself nor his son, you are the king now. Do not damage that.”

Brynden stares at the man for a long moment before saying in voice that is very, very chocked. “How long have you known then Ed? How long have you known this secret and kept it from me? Your King?”

Edwyle merely looks at him, his expression neutral. His voice calm when he replies. “I swore a vow to your mother and father that I would never speak of the truth unless they specifically asked me to. My loyalty has always been to your father and mother and to my wife and my family. I would not have anyone question that. But you did not need to know.”

Brynden feels the anger begin to boil up within him then at the man’s words. His voice is harsh and laced with anger when he speaks next. “So you would have kept me in the dark would you? My owe so loyal hand, you would have had me believe a lie? That the man I called father for so many years was in fact my father, when I am nothing like him? You would have done that, for some oath you swore when my uncle was still young and whole? You would put that before your oaths to me? Your King, your brother your friend?”

There is a long moment of silence, before Edwyle replies. “Yes.” He says softly, and Brynden feels his anger evaporate to be replaced by a sense of helplessness.

“Leave, leave now before I kill you.” He says to Edwyle, when the man bows and walks out of the room. Brynden sits down and pours himself a glass of wine.

“Brynden,” his mother says tentatively coming to sit next to him. Brynden does not reply. “Sweetling, we did what we thought was best. You asked for the truth and so the truth has been given to you. Please Brynden we are only trying to help.”

Brynden looks up at his mother, his eyes laced with hurt and anger, and he merely looks at her for a long moment before saying. “Leave mother please, I need to be alone. I do not want to see anybody for some time.” His mother sighs and walks from the room. Brynden sits in his room, for how long he knows not, all he knows is that in the time that he sits there with a cup of wine in his hand, the sun sets and rises, and the servants come to change the sheets on the un slept bed, Rowena does not come to see him, nor do his children, nor do any of the Kingsguard or the council members, he merely sits in his chair staring into space.

Until of course Rowena does show up her eyes hard though her tone is soft when she slips into the room and onto his lap. “My love? Brynden what is the matter? You have not left this room in four days. Everybody is worrying, and Edwyle and your mother will not tell me what has happened. What’s wrong my love?”

Brynden stares at his wife, his beautiful and strong wife, and wonders how can he tell her, and not make her feel repulsed by what he is? His voice is shaky when he answers her. “I, I learnt the truth of some matters that I have long wondered about.” Best to keep it short.

Rowena of course is not satisfied with that. “What matters my love?” she asks as she begins moving herself against him.

He groans and then says. “About my mother and uncle Maekar.”

“Oh? What sort of things about them my love?” Rowena asks.

Brynden swallows nervously and then says. “He’s my father Rowena. Maekar Targaryen was my father, and my siblings father as well. Not Aerys Targaryen, I am a bastard.” As he says the words he closes his eyes ready for her revulsion and shock.

He hears her shocked gasp and then her say “Oh, my love.”

He looks at her then, and her eyes are staring at him with so much sympathy and love, he is surprised. “You, you are not repulsed my lady?” he asks his voice bitter. “You are wed to a bastard, a false king not the true king. How are you not calling for our annulment now?”

Rowena looks at him and her eyes have hardened. “I do not care that you are a bastard you silly fool. I have loved you for a long time now, that will not go away and I do not wish it to go away. So what if you are not the trueborn king, you are a better man and king than Aegon Targaryen could ever hope to be. Our children are honest and honourable people. No I only worry about who knows and what they could do with this information.”

Brynden sighs, he is silent for a long moment before he speaks once more. “So you are not angry that because you are wed to a false king, your two eldest sons have died, and that we lost our Aelinor because of it? You are not mad at all?”

Rowena sighs then and moves against him, he feels himself stir then, but he pulls himself back to the here and now. “No my love I am not mad. It has happened, and is in the past and though I will grieve for them for the rest of my days, I cannot blame anyone but those responsible for their deaths.”

Brynden looks at her then, and sees such honesty and love in her eyes, that he feels himself stir and say. “What did I do to deserve you my love? You are too good for me.” With that conversation ends and they make love on that chair, and then the bed, all worries forgotten for the nonce.

A few days later, shaved and bathed and freshly garbed Brynden calls the small council together, not to discuss what he has just recently learnt, but about other issues amongst them the  issue of the inheritance of Summerhall. The small council members assemble, hand of the king and a man Brynden wishes he did not care so much about Edwyle Stark, master of laws Prince Aegon Targaryen of Summerhall (the man who is his elder brother now he supposes), master of coin Lord Garon Lannister, master of ships the oath Tyrek Baratheon, the newly appointed master of whispers Prince Maron Martell (he will keep a close eye on this one for now), grand maester Derryck old and strong and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Oberyn Dayne.

“My lords, I thank you for coming. It has been a while since we last met, but now we have met once more, and of course we must welcome Prince Maron Martell to the council, as our new master of whispers. He has come with a good and solid recommendation from Princess Loreza Martell. Now what matters are there for us to discuss?”

Edwyle speaks then. “There is the matter of the inheritance of Summerhall as well as the issue of whom to grant the Lordship of Harrenhal to. As well as reports from across the narrow sea.”

Brynden nods. “Very well. It would be best if we deal with Summerhall first seeing as Aegon is here.”

Aegon speaks then, the man is his brother and yet Brynden cannot truly see much of their father in him. He wonders what that says about him. “Well, I see no reason for why Duncan and his children cannot inherit Summerhall once I am gone from this world. Yes he has wed a commoner, but she seems to be fertile, and Duncan assures me that they are doing all they can to conceive an heir. The commons and the lords sworn to Summerhall all love and respect Duncan.”

There is much murmuring of agreement, until Lord Garon Lannister speaks, and Brynden feels his jaw tighten in anger at the man. He will be having words with him at some point. “My lords, Your Grace. Respectfully, whilst I acknowledge that Prince Duncan is well loved by all, and would make a fine Prince of Summerhall, we must all realise that his marriage to Jenny of Oldstones, means that his heirs will have diluted blood. Surely it would be better for Prince Jaehaerys and his children to be named the heirs to Summerhall, as they have pure blood and with his marriage to Daenaerys Blackfyre, Jaehaerys has untied the two lines of House Targaryen.”

There is some more murmuring at that, but then Brynden speaks up and all goes quiet, his voice his harsh and angry. “No. We have fought so many wars and many good men have lost their lives to prevent the Blackfyres from holding any sort of power, I will not allow one of them to sit in Summerhall be she female or not. No Duncan shall remain the heir as will his children after him. Now let us discuss Harrenhal.” Brynden sees Edwyle nod his head in approval and somehow despite all the anger he feels towards the man, a part of him flickers with pride.

Grand Maester Derryck speaks then. “Yes Your Grace. Well there are four main families who have a claim on Harrenhal through the female line. Houses Whent, Butterwell, Shawney and Vance were all wed recently into the female line of House Lothston. As such Houses Whent and Butterwell were wed most recently to women from House Lothston.”

Brynden nods and then says. “Butterwell and Shawney have fought alongside the Blackfyres in the past, they are out the equation. Whent and Vance hmmm, both houses have been loyal to the throne since Daemon Blackfyre got it into his head to be king. The question is which house is to be rewarded.”

There is some discussion before it is eventually decided that House Whent should be rewarded, House Vance already have two branches of their family around in the Riverlands, best not to give them more power. And so a royal decree is issued naming Lord Larys Whent as Lord of Harrenhal, and all its lands and incomes granted to him, a few weeks later the man is formally confirmed as such.

The news from across the narrow sea it turns out is that Maelys Blackfyre is looking for a husband for his sister, Brynden decides that men will be kept close to Blackfyre to gain word on his movements and to try and bring him down from within, if he can he will try and avoid another war. He also decides that Garon Lannister has been given enough chances, soon enough he will die, for a dragon will never bend for a lion, never again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Do You Know Where Life Ends

****

**Edwyle Stark**

With the realm at peace, and there being no significant threat to the throne or the Targaryen rule, King Brynden had decided to take the royal family away from the capital for some time and venture to the Eyrie, for them to meet the Queen’s brother and his family. As such Edwyle, as hand of the king was left in charge, to oversee the running of the city and the kingdoms and make sure that all went smoothly. Things were still tense between Edwyle and the king, there was not the same sort of camaraderie that they had had before the king had learnt the truth of his parentage, and though Edwyle would never admit it out loud, he did miss that. He had never truly had friends growing up, he had been too grim and solemn, had been too shy for such things, but his friendship with the king had been what had made living in this pit of vipers bearable, and now with that on the rocks, Edwyle felt his patience beginning to run out. It was only his sense of duty that was preventing him from returning to Winterfell now.

Yet he knew not how to get through to the King, and end the tension between them, he knew not what words he needed to say to make the King see that all that had been done, had been done for his own good and to protect him and the realm. The king was a proud man, with a deep sense of honour and justice, and yet when it came to family, he was very, very protective, and Edwyle knew Brynden felt as if he had been wronged, not that he could blame him, but still it was not right for the king, a grown man to act so cold towards himself as well as his own mother, though Queen Aelinor received the silent treatment to a lesser extent. Edwyle shook his head then slightly as the council doors opened, though the king was away it was still necessary to conduct business as usual which meant the small council had to meet, and meet regularly.

The doors opened to allow, master of laws Prince Aegon Targaryen, master of coin Lord Garon Lannister, Grand Maester Derryck, master of whispers Prince Maron Martell, and master of ships Tyrek Baratheon into the room. These were the men who helped rule and keep the realm together, a good lot, and an honourable and loyal lot. Prince Aegon was the king’s second closest advisor the one whom he paid the most attention to after Edwyle, and though the Prince did sometimes have a few funny notions about what ruling entailed, generally Edwyle appreciated what the man had to say. Grand Maester Derryck was another person whom Edwyle trusted in the council, old and loyal and cunning as well, the man knew the intricacies of court politics as well as anyone Edwyle had ever met. Tyrek Baratheon was a lout though, a drunken brute who lived in the shadow of his father, the old and strong Robar Baratheon, the man was pushing thirty now, and his hair was beginning to thin and his belly was beginning to expand, why Prince Aegon had thought to wed his daughter to this man Edwyle knew not. All he knew was that when Lord Robar’s day came, the Stormlands would suffer for it. Prince Maron Martell was an enigma, though he had served on the council for a year now, Edwyle still did not know all that much about him, and that was something he did not quite like. The man did his job well, providing the king and council with the whispers from across the narrow sea and throughout the realm, but of course his skills had yet to be tested what with there being no true threats to the realm.

Edwyle spoke once the rest of the council were seated. “My lords, I thank you for coming. With the King away in the Eyrie, it is up to us to make sure that the realm continues to run smoothly. As such I would hear what matters there are for us to discuss.”

Maester Derryck spoke then. “There is the issue of this raven from the Night’s Watch. It appears that there has been movement from beyond the wall, of Wildlings congregating. Lord Commander Sand wishes for some aid from the throne.”

Edwyle knew that most of the council did not take the Watch seriously, and saw it only as a institution to send those who were troubled, or did not conform to society. Edwyle however, knew that the Watch was important and the throne would do well to heed whatever words they had from the place. “What sort of aid does Lord Commander Sand wish from the throne?”

Maester Derryck peered at the letter once more and then said. “Men and gold for buying weapons. He writes that he worries that there might be another incursion.”

At that Lord Garon Lannister, Edwyle’s goodbrother snorted. “An incursion? From those savages beyond the wall? When have they ever been able to succeed in doing anything? The last time they got beyond the wall in any great numbers Artos Stark through them back. Why should we waste our money and men on a non threat, when there are more present threats here?”

Edwyle, grimaces, he truly does not like his goodbrother, and can understand why Brynden despises the man. His tone is cold when he replies. “Because the Watch is what stands between us and those savages Lord Lannister. Were it not for them, we would likely be infected by wildlings as of now. The royal coffers are full to bursting, you yourself said as much last time we met. Surely you can spare some gold to have it shipped off to the north? As for the men, I will speak with Loren and see who wants to join, and what people from the dungeons are fit for service.” There is some murmuring of agreement; they all fear him too much to object, no matter their own personal beliefs. “Now what else is there to speak of?”

Tyrek Baratheon, the lout speaks then. “I have spoken with Torreg Grimstone the shipbuilder about those extra ships that the King asked about. He has said that he would be willing to have his men build them for his grace. He says it would take roughly a year to build the three ships and would cost roughly 20,000 dragons.”

Edwyle nods, before he had left for the Vale, the King had spoke about wishing to have three new ships built in order to supplant the royal fleet, a matter of pride Edwyle thinks, to show that the throne is better than the Lannisters and the Greyjoys with regards to naval power, though there has not been a naval battle since the Dance. Still when he speaks he directs his question toward Garon. “Lord Garon see to it that this Grimstone is paid the amount he wants, try and haggle it down if you can, if not then pay the amount. Now what more is there to discuss?”

Prince Aegon speaks then, his voice tired sounding, as of late the prince has been sounding very tired, and Edwyle wonders what it is that has been causing such increased tiredness for the man, considering they are of the same age and Edwyle has never felt so alive. “The training of the new recruits for the City Watch has been completed, yet there is not enough space for them to live. There are also people preaching in the streets against you my lord hand. Some have been arrested for graffiti some of the more local monuments including the monument put up for Prince Maelor and Prince Baelor.”

Edwyle sighs then. “The barracks of the city watch are being expanded, we all know that. As for these fools, either send them to the Watch or have them suitably punished. I will not have them graffiti the monument to the princes.” Aegon nods his head, and Edwyle then directs his next question to Prince Maron who has remained rather silent throughout the whole meeting so far. “Prince Maron, what news from across the narrow sea?”

Prince Maron, a salty Dornishman, with a glib tongue, smiles slightly and then says. “Oh much and more my lords, much and more. If only His Grace was here, he would delight in hearing what I have to say.” The man pauses for a moment and then begins speaking once more. “Of the Blackfyre pretender and the Golden Company, I can tell you that they remain in Tyrosh, the two headed monster sits and broods thinking of what to do next, as some of his generals those who have stood behind his father and his family for years, leave or die. Soon enough the Golden Company will be made up of green boys and old men. But the more interesting news is that of the Brightflames.” At this Edwyle’s ears perk up, the King had after learning the truth of his parentage had discreetly told Maron that he wanted Aerion Brightflame’s children found and brought back to Westeros. “Yes, they reside in Pentos and Myr. The bastards in Pentos and the true born in Myr. It seems the Brightflame liked to spread his seed around.”

“What of his son Aenar?” Edwyle asks. Aerion Targaryen had wed some Blackwood girl not long before his death, the boy had been but a babe, the girl had died under strange circumstances not long after, the babe had disappeared. Searches had turned up fruitless.

Prince Maron smiles then. “Aenar is the one holding his brothers and sisters in Myr. He holds onto them tightly, and someday wishes to claim back Summerhall from his uncle.”

There is a long silence and then Edwyle says. “Very well, keep an eye on them. Both sets, and then once you know more we shall talk about what needs to be done next.” With that the council meeting comes to an end, and Edwyle breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way to the godswood, followed by Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard. He sits by the heart tree and closes his eyes and begins to pray.

He is not sure how long he has been before the Heart Tree when he hears a sword being unsheathed, he is about to berate Ser Gerold for drawing his sword in such a setting, when he hears a voice, a cold voice. “Move aside Ser, and let me get to the heathen.”

He remains silent, his eyes closed and listens as Ser Gerold says. “I cannot do that. Now leave or I will kill you.”

“You would abandon the faith to protect this traitor? Pah you are no knight.” The man says once more.

He hears a rustling and knows that Ser Gerold has advanced closer to the man, that is when he speaks. “Ser Gerold, let the man past. I would hear what he has to say.” Ser Gerold steps back and when Edwyle opens his eyes there is a man with thick auburn hair standing before him, a dagger drawn. Edwyle smiles slightly then and says. “Now tell me good man, what have I done that warrants you attempting to kill me hmm?”

The man looks at him as if he has grown a second head. “You, you are a heathen and a blasphemer. Not worth the air you breathe. You have lead the King away from the true path of dedication, and have made him believe in the words of evil. I am here to do the realm a service and remove you from this world.”

Edwyle laughs slightly then and says. “Truly now? And how do you plan to do that?”

The man looks affronted, and it shows in his voice when he says. “I have a dagger in my hand. I plan on killing you now, and I will not hesitate to do so. The Faith must have more power in this city of sinners.”

Edwyle laughs once more and stands up then, to his full height, and he notes with some grim satisfaction that the man cowers back almost bumping into Ser Gerold. “No I think not. For if you truly meant to kill me you would have done so by now. No I think it is time to end this farce.” With that he takes the dagger from the man’s hand and then coldly says. “Ser Gerold hold the man if you please.” Once the man is secure in Ser Gerold’s grip he plunges the dagger deep into the man’s gut. Once the man’s has stopped moving he pulls the dagger out, cleans it and then places the dagger back into the man’s hand. “Put his body in the grove near the bushes. Let the birds and other vermin get to him.” Ser Gerold nods and then does just that, once that is done Edwyle walks back into Red Keep, but does not go to the Tower of the Hand, instead he walks towards Queen Dowager Aelinor’s chambers. He must speak with her, he needs to ask her advice on a few things.

He knocks twice, on the second knock she opens the door. Aelinor Targaryen had always been a beautiful woman, Edwyle remembers that he had a crush on her when he was a boy squiring for Prince Maekar, and now he still sometimes feels slightly tongue tied around her. She smiles at him and then asks. “Lord Edwyle, is aught a miss?”

Edwyle taking his cue from her, simply says. “The king and I, we must talk about that.”

Aelinor nods and then leads him further into her chambers, once they are away from the door and safely ensconced somewhere where none of the spies that wander the passageways of the Red Keep can hear them she speaks. “Has my son still not spoken to you? Not even a letter?”

“No he has not. I do not mean to sound a child, but it is beginning to worry me. The King and the Hand are supposed to work as a team that cannot happen if one does not speak to the other, or refuses to do so.” Edwyle says.

Aelinor sighs then and she replies. “Brynden has always been a proud person, even as a boy. His pride was hurt as was his belief in what was real and not when we told him the truth. He will come around eventually though. Fear not Edwyle, my son is stubborn not stupid. He knows that you two need to be speaking with one another for the kingdoms to work properly.”

Edwyle nods and then asks her. “Has there been any word from the Rock? I had been told by Myriah that Daenys meant to come and visit. Will she be able to come?”

As so often happens when discussion turns to the eldest of her children Aelinor’s eyes go sad, and her expression changes. “No, she shall not be able to come. Lord Garon has told her he does not wish for her to come. No doubt so he can keep whoring and drinking, and waste away whatever life he has left. Daenys does not wish to come anyway, I believe there were threats issued by Garon in his letter to her.”

Edwyle is shocked. He has never been able to understand why Garon Lannister mistreats his wife so, Daenys is a wonderful person, sweet and caring, she deserves nothing but happiness, not the beatings and fear that Garon Lannister gives her. “I take it Brynden does not know this then? That he never even knew?”

Aelinor shakes her head. “No, I thought it best he did not know. Otherwise he would have killed Garon Lannister long before, and relations with the Rock are already strained as it is.”

Edwyle nods and then says. “I shall look into it; I shall make sure Daenys can come for the tourney. It is only right that she be here.” With that he bows and leaves the Queen Dowager’s rooms. The King remains in the Vale for two moons, in which time Edwyle holds court, and council sessions oversees the building of new barracks for the gold cloaks and the building of the three new ships for the Royal Fleet as well as listening to more reports about the movements of the Blackfyres.

When the King returns, it is during one warm sunny day. Edwyle is surprised when the king calls him to his chambers; he had thought the king would wish to rest, he is even more surprised when he finds Ser Oberyn Dayne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard present as well. “Ah Edwyle, sit down please. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Edwyle sits down and then waits for the king to begin speaking. When he does, the King looks quite sad, and for a moment Edwyle fears something has happened. “I would like to apologise for the way I behaved the months before I left for the Vale. It was not right nor very kingly of me. I hope we can put it behind us and continue to work as the effective team that we are.”

Edwyle is quite surprised by this; still he merely nods and says. “Of course Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”

The king smiles then and says. “Good, now that that is out of the way. There is something more pressing that I wish to discuss with you. The issue of Garon Lannister.”

Ah, so that is what has drawn the king away from his rest. “What of Lannister Your Grace?” Edwyle asks.

“I know what he said to my sister, what he has said to Daenys and what he has been doing to Daenys for some time. Even if my sister did not wish for me to know, I have my ways of knowing. This has gone on long enough. The man has mistreated my sister for long enough, Tytos Lannister is a man grown with children of his own now, it is time he became Lord of the Rock.” The King says, anger colouring his tone.

“How would you like for us to deal with him Your Grace?” Edwyle asks though he has a vague idea of what the King wishes.

Ser Oberyn Dayne speaks then. “A white hart has been spotted in the Kingswood, I suggest to His Grace that we organise a hunt for some of the members of the court including Lord Garon.”

Brynden nods. “The man is fond of hunting, and it shall be his downfall. I want you to organise for it to happen Edwyle.”

“Of course Your Grace.” Edwyle replies, he knows just the person to turn to.


	20. The White Sword who Shot Stars

**Ser Oberyn Dayne**

The hunt began in the Kingswood at the first break of dawn on the seventh day of the seventh month of the 251st year after Aegon’s Landing. The target a white hart that had been spotted some five miles within the Kingswood forest, the King had decreed that a break from council activity could be had and that those nobles from court who wished to come could. As such quite a large party had decided to join the King, along with him came the hand of the King Lord Edwyle Stark, master of laws Prince Aegon Targaryen, master of coin Garon Lannister, master of ships Tyrek Baratheon, Lord Darklyn, Lord Hayford, Lord Kenneth Royce and his son Ser Robar. There were also some twenty other members of the party that set out for the Kingswood, including Prince Aenar Targaryen, the presence of three members of the Targaryen family Oberyn had decided necessitated the need for four members of the Kingsguard to be present to make sure that nothing went awry. As such as well as his own presence, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Harold Grandison and Ser Lucas Goodbrook were riding with the party, their eyes alert and their swords not far from their hands.

As he rode through the Kingswood, Oberyn kept his attention focused on making sure the King and the Hand were safe and remained so. He knew what would happen soon enough, but he was not sure when it would happen, that detail the Hand not seen fit to tell the King, a wise move Oberyn thought, it would give him plausible deniability, he could not be charged with something he knew not of. Still Oberyn kept one hand near his sword just in case something went wrong. A rustling in the bushes drew his eye, and he saw the King raise his bow, only for him to lower it slightly afterwards when it turned out to be the wind, they continued to ride in silence.

Just as they got half way through the Kingswood, another rustle was heard. And this time the King fired off one arrow after the other and managed to bring down a mighty elk, a big brute of a thing. “A good catch Your Grace.” Ser Oberyn heard Lord Garon Lannister say. He snorted slightly, the man was a lickspittle and a arse kisser. The king said nothing and merely grunted before riding on, two of the helpers from the Red Keep bundled the beast up and rode away, more than likely to prepare it for a feast when the King returned. They rode on, through the forest, the King firing arrows left right and centre, along with other members of the party bringing down whatever sizeable prey they could find, and having sent back to the Red Keep, thinning down the party of nobles, and thus lessening the chance that what was about happen could look suspicious.

After another few treks through the forest, what Oberyn had been anticipating happened. Arrows began flying through the bushes and the trees, whizzing with such alarming ferocity, Oberyn momentarily forgot that this was all part of the plan. “Get down Your Grace.” He shouted above the noise of the arrows, the king nodded and rode back quickly, just as the shooters of the arrows came forward galloping quickly, shouting and screeching. Oberyn drew Dawn and began to engage the bandits in combat, hacking and slashing his way through the men, cutting them down left and right. A slash here, and parry there, he cut through a man’s armour and left him bleeding on his horse. Arrows were flying around him. “Keep the King safe.” He shouted at his sworn brothers just as he brought down yet another bandit.

 _Get to the leader._ He thought sharply to himself, kill the leader and prevent this getting out, he charged through the bandits cutting them down like they were nothing more than flower sacks, but before he could get to the man, an arrow came whizzing past and he saw it pierce the man’s throat. Oberyn watched with grim fascination as the man chocked to death on his own blood. Once that was done the bandits began to flee back into the darkness, with the fighting done Oberyn reversed his horse and looked to the King. “Are you well Your Grace?” he asked.

“Aye Ser Oberyn I am. But we must find out who did this, and we must get Garon help.” The King replied, his voice shaky.

“Lord Garon is dead Your Grace,” the hand replied his voice eerily calm. “One of the bastards got an arrow through him, and then some during the chaos.”

Oberyn hears the King curse, though he knows it is feigned. “Very well then, Oberyn I want you to go and finish off the rest of the bandits, take however many men you need to get through them. I shall be waiting here.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Oberyn says, sneaking a quick look at the body of Garon Lannister, his hair is muddy and his body is littered with arrows as his throat. Blood spilling everywhere, Oberyn turns his eyes away from the sight and then says. “ Ser Gerold come with me. Ser Lucas and Ser Harold remain here.”

With that he and Ser Gerold ride out in silence to find and finish the outlaws, the fighting there is short and sweet. The bandits are not skilled enough to stand against two knights of the Kingsguard, even if one is pushing past sixty. Oberyn swings and swings, hacking two men’s arms clean off, shoving Dawn through another’s throat. By the time he and Ser Gerold are done, he is sweating underneath the weight of his armour. He turns to Ser Gerold, and sees the lad looks pale. “Come Ser, we are done here. Let us return to the King.”

When they return Oberyn notices that Ser Harold is gone, he looks to the king who simply says. “I sent him back to bring news to court. We must have more men to bring the body back. You dealt with the bandits?”

“Yes Your Grace. Not one of them lives now.” Oberyn replies.

Later when they had returned to the Red Keep, and the raven had flown to Casterly Rock, and the silent sisters were dealing with Garon Lannister, Oberyn found himself in the King’s Solar along with the Hand of the King Edwyle Stark, as the king began asking the hand questions. “So you have made absolutely sure that no one will suspect us in the fool’s death?”

“Yes Your Grace. I have made very certain that none will be able to link anything back to us. The leader of the bandits was the only person to know whom and why they were attacking and he is dead.” The hand replies.

“Good. That is good. The raven has been sent to the Rock and Daenys shall come to court for the man’s bones and then Tytos Lannister shall be lord, and we can move on from this.” The King states.

“I do not think it will be all that simply Your Grace,” The hand states. “After all you did not make your dislike of Lannister all that much of a secret from your family. And Lady Daenys is nothing but perceptive, you might need to explain certain things to her to get her to understand why you had to do what you did.”

“Yes, yes. Just as you had to do.” Oberyn hears the king grumble. Though he does not understand what that is about, he sees the hand tense.

“Enough of this Brynden. You are not a child, you are the king. It is time you acted as such. You know I did what I thought would be in your best interests. And it has worked well for the kingdoms. Either put this behind you, or I will resign. I will not be treated so insolently.” The Hand says, and Oberyn is shocked, he knows not what is happening.

There is a long moment of silence, in which Oberyn sees the king’s jaw tense and his fingers flex, and then the King speaks. “Very well Edwyle. I apologise, if my manner and attitude towards you has been disrespectful. I never meant it to be so. Do not resign, you are more valuable here than in the north. Now what else do we need to discuss?”

Oberyn is not entirely sure what he has just witnessed but he knows it is not his place to question it, though he can sense that there is still some underlying tension there. Lord Stark speaks then, his tone calm. “There is Your Grace. Ser Oberyn, did Ser Gerold look uneasy with what we asked you both to do?”

Oberyn looks at the hand and then says. “No my lord, he seemed a bit pale but that was simply because it was his first proper fight. Nothing a little talk won’t sort out. He was none the wiser as to the true purpose of the attack. No one else was my lord Your Grace.”

“Very well then. You are dismissed Ser.” The king says.

Oberyn stands up and nods and then leaves heading for White Sword Tower, where upon entering he finds his sworn brothers Ser Brandon Stark and Ser Quentyn Bracken sat discussing something. He smiles slightly, at the clear hero worship on Brandon’s face, the boy is young just turned fifteen, but a finer young swordsman Oberyn has not seen, not for a long time. Quentyn Bracken is also a fine swordsman, and proud of the fact as well, deadly in the field. “Now what are you two talking about?” Oberyn asks a smile on his face.

“The wolf pup was just asking me about the campaign against the Merwood Pirates Ser.” Bracken replies gruffly.

Oberyn nods , he remembers that campaign, during the reign of King Aerys, there had been a string of attacks on the coast of the crownlands that had required royal attention, it had been a bloody affair. “And what did you make of our exploits there then young wolf?” Oberyn asks.

Brandon Stark, a very good swordsman is still very shy at some points and his voice his very soft when he replies. “I thought it was very brave of you Ser going up against Nar Surg like that on your own injured.”

Oberyn grunts. “Aye brave and foolish. I was but a lad, and should have left it to the more experienced soldiers. But that is neither here nor there, just make sure that should something like that ever happen to you, you never put the King or any member of the royal family’s life in danger by trying to be gallant.”

“Yes Ser.” Brandon replies.

“Now enough of this solemnity. I know Ser Harold and Ser Gerold are with the King. And that Ser Lucas guards the Queen and the royal children, but where is Prince Lewyn?”

Both his sworn brothers seem unsure if they should answer the question, though Oberyn continues looking between them and then he laughs and says. “I know very well where Prince Lewyn will be. My great nephew and he were good friends back in Dorne, I know very well that he has an appetite for certain pleasures. He is loyal and true though, so we shall say nothing of this to anyone.”

Both men nod and then, Oberyn retires to his chambers for some rest and sleep. As he sleeps he dreams of the events of his life, from his time in Starfall playing with Garse and Mychel and then when their father died, his training to become a knight and the dedication he showed to wanting to become the sword of the morning. His dreams alternate between his battles with the bandits who raided along the coast of Dorne serving the Prince, and then being knighted by Lord Uller for his prowess and dedication, then the dream changes to the day he was raised to the Kingsguard. King Aerys had come for a tourney for Princess Daenaerys nameday, and so he had been raised to the white in Sunspear in front of all of Dorne, though the occasion had been marred by some tearful words from his brothers informing him that their mother had died. Then there were the countless wars he had fought in since then, all the blood and gore all the things he had done in the name of the King, it weighed on his mind, this last deed as well, but still he defended himself, he had not broken his vows, he had never broken his vows and he would not do so now. Though when the dream changed and he saw the boy’s rotting corpse and his eyes turning to lava, he woke up screaming.

The next few months were spent making sure that the king was protected and that the Kingsguard was up to scratch in terms of battle practice, they sparred and trained regularly when they were not on duty, and Oberyn always made sure to go against the younger members, he needed to keep his reactions quick, one never knew when battle could come. In that time, Garon Lannister’s funeral service was held, his wife seemed not in grief but merely shocked, his son Tytos Lannister a blithering fool merely nodded and thanked the king like a lackey, Queen Dowager Aelinor began to become frailer in health rarely leaving her rooms for anything, and relations between the king and Lord Stark continued to improve, though Oberyn stood guard over one of their more fiercer arguments one night.

The first time he was broken out of his stupor of duty, was when Brandon Stark knocked on his door and said in a scared voice. “Ser Quentyn is bleeding Ser.”


	21. Shrutugal

**King Brynden I Targaryen**

Two years had passed since the death of Garon Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Master of Coin, two years in which Brynden had seen his sister Daenys come to life once more, no longer did he see her cower in fear for a potential beating, no Daenys his oldest sister had always been strong and proud, and now she was strong once more, a dragon now not a tamed lion. Her son that nitwit Tytos Lannister was Lord of the Rock now, an amiable fellow was Brynden’s nephew, more concerned with remaining popular than trying to enforce his hold on his vassals, and already Brynden could see the blood in the water, not that he minded per say, it was good to have the lions tamed for once, and Daenys herself cared not a whit for what the lion’s bannermen thought, not when the might of the throne was behind her.

The kingdoms were enjoying a fruitful summer and peace, no wars, no disputes merely trade and prosperity, and Brynden, he was enjoying the fruits of all the hard work he and Edwyle had been putting in. Trade within the kingdoms was booming relations between the various lords was at its highest since the latest days of Brynden’s grandfather’s reign and there was of course trade with the free cities, the royal coffers were filling up quite nicely. As he sat waiting for the other members of the council to arrive, Brynden thought about how much more he enjoyed the peace compared to war. War had occupied much of his early reign, the Blackfyres constantly on the prowl trying to take what was not theirs, with ambitious lords always trying to help them and assist in their failed coups. Now though, the Blackfyres were left down to two members, what with Maelys Blackfyre’s cousin having wed Jaehaerys, and having borne him two children, Aerys and Rhaella, there was no hope for a future Blackfyre invasion to garner much support and that was something Brynden wished his father, his real father not Aerys Targaryen, could have lived to see.

He wondered if Prince Maekar would be proud of the person he was today, the person that court and being king had shaped, with his mother and his ‘uncle’s’ guiding hand, he wondered whether Maekar would approve of some of the decisions he had made during the course of his life, or whether he would still have that gods damned frown on his face. As he looked over some of what would be discussed in council today, he wondered what Aegon would think if he were to tell him that they were in fact brothers and not cousins, but then the situation would not do well for thinking about, his cousin might try to claim the throne, and then Duncan, his brave and rash nephew would be in line to inherit, not the best move no, it could not be.

The door opened and the members of the council walked in, the same members of the council as had been serving since the last Blackfyre rebellion had ended with the exception of the master of coin Brynden’s cousin’s husband Allem Dayne, the man had been recommended to him by Maron Martell, according to Martell the man was a good administrator and very good with money, and it had showed, the royal treasury was benefitting from some of the tax incentives that the man had implemented as well as from some of the trade suggestions he had come up with. A smart man that was for sure, as for Maron Martell, the man had proved to be very useful in maintaining the peace within Westeros, his network included various undercut people whom Brynden tried not to think about too much, he cared not how the man got his information, so long as it could be put to good use.

As Edwyle sat down in the chair to his right, Brynden nodded slightly at his goodbrother and friend, things had been tense between them for some time, after Brynden had learnt the truth of his heritage, but now they had thawed, the shared worry over Brynden’s mother’s health and the fact that they had literally had to spend long periods of time in each other’s company meant that there was no space for anger anymore, besides Edwyle had proven to be very useful in keeping the peace as well, what with his visions and such. Regardless once all the members were sat down Brynden spoke. “ My lords I thank you for coming today. Now the issues that we must discuss include, trade with Tyrosh and Lys as well as the issue of Jarryck Lothston and my cousin Aerion’s children. Lord Dayne if you wish to proceed.”

Allem Dayne was a tall man with dark black hair and violet eyes, and a sharp mind. His voice was strong when he spoke. “Thank you Your Grace, now an emissary has come from Lys asking if Your Grace would be interested in opening up an account with their fledgling bank, he asks this as he states that their bank would charge lower rates of interest than the Iron Bank of Bravos, which he claims would be more beneficial to the both of you.”

“A ploy no more than that. These Lyseni are known for their flirtatious manner in both love and business.” Lord Tyrek Baratheon said, the lout’s father had died two moons ago, old Robar Baratheon a strong and smart minded man, his son not so much.

“Lord Tyrek speaks truly Your Grace, what reason would the Lyseni have for offering this agreement now? The bank Lord Dayne speaks of has been open for two years already and yet now they come to the Throne with this offer. There is something strange going on here.” Prince Aegon said.

“The emissary said to me, that the reason why they had not approached the throne before now was because they did not wish to be shot down for simply being an upstart bank at the beginning. The Prince of Pentos has several accounts with them as does the Sealord of Bravos. That in itself should show just how credible they are. At least that is what the emissary said to me.” Lord Dayne said.

“Ah My lord of Dayne, one must wonder why the Lyseni would bring up the fact that the Sealord of Bravos has an account with them when he clearly does not. For hundreds of years since Bravos’ founding each and every Sealord has always had an account with the Iron Bank, a blood debt if you will for helping the city escape the Doom and the Valyrians notice. This emissary was trying to fool you, besides my sources report that this bank has helped Maelys Blackfyre in his campaigns in the Disputed Lands.” Prince Maron said.

Brynden spoke then. “And how much money can they promise us should we ever need it?”

Lord Dayne spoke rather nervously then. “Not that much in the way of loans Your Grace, perhaps only some 100 dragons. Not enough to last through a long summer filled with drought.”

Brynden nodded then and said. “Next time you see the emissary Allem, tell him that though his offer is kind, we shall politely refuse. The Iron Bank has been good to us, it would be a shame to ruin such a good thing there. Now the issue of Tyrosh, Maron I believe you have the report on that.”

Maron Martell the master of whispers and cousin to Princess Loreza of Dorne, spoke in his sultry voice then. “Thank you Your Grace, yes my sources in Tyrosh report that the Archon of the city is ailing and his son means to claim the position, though of course Tyrosh holds elections to decide its rulers. I bring this issue up my lords, because the Archon and his family have always been staunch supporters of the Blackfyres, in fact I believe the man’s grandmother was wed to Bittersteel or was supposed to be. Regardless of that fact, the Archon’s son means to support Maelys Blackfyre’s campaign in the Disputed Lands, he also has friends in Volantis and Yunkai who would be more than happy to see Maelys Blackfyre sit the Iron Throne.”

Brynden remained silent though Edwyle spoke for the first time during the meeting. “Who are the other people competing for the position?”

Maron takes a deep breath and then says. “Two other people are competing. One of them Mors Mopatis is Maelys Blackfyre’s cousin through his uncle’s marriage. Whilst the other Dennerro Broqo is my sister’s husband. Mopatis will be bought off to support the Archon’s son though, whilst Broqo faces threats to his life from members of the Golden Company.”

Grand Maester Derryck speaks then, his voice ponderous and tired sounding. “So then our way is clear my lords Your Grace. We must send men to see off Mopatis and make sure that the Archon’s son faces a slander campaign, surely Tyrosh must be tired of the wars that the Blackfyres keep involving them in?”

“What you say has merit Maester, but then how would we go about doing that? Without it coming back to us?” Aegon asked.

Maron laughs then and says. “Why my prince I have contacts in the city that could easily do the deed for the right amount of money, and never speak a word of what or whom paid them. All it requires is the king’s say so.”

With that all eyes turn to face him, Brynden is silent for a moment looking as if he is considering what has been said though he has already made up his mind. “Very well, Maron get in contact with your sources in Tyrosh discreetly of course and get the deed done. Mopatis I need dead, and the Archon’s son, I want people digging into his past, every shady thing he has ever done I want it fed to the people who will vote and play a key part in deciding how others vote is that understood?” With that done, Brynden then turns his attention to the next issue at hand. “I received a raven from Lord Massey last night, he reports that someone claiming to be Jarryck Lothston has turned up outside his castle, now the question is what to do with this information.”

Edwyle spoke then, his voice hard. “Do nothing Your Grace. Jarryck Lothston is still serving in the Golden Company like the coward he is. This man is clearly an imposter and Lord Massey is clearly trying to win your favour by trying to hand over an up handed man he probably found in the docks.”

“Lord Stark speaks true there Your Grace.” Maester Derryck said. “Besides has Lord Massey ever seen what Lord Lothston looks like? If I remember correctly Lord Massey was but a boy when Jarryck Lothston fled.”

“Very well then,” Brynden replies. “Edwyle speak to Lord Massey and tell him to hold the man until further notice. Maron I want a report on what the Golden Company is doing before I next speak about this issue.” Both men nod and then Brynden speaks once more. “Now Maron what news do you have for me about Aerion’s children since we last discussed the issue?”

Maron Martell clears his throat then and says. “Well as you know Your Grace, my sources had the bastards moved from the place where they were in Pentos to a safe house in Norvos, whilst the legitimate children have vanished from Lys and have gone to gods know where. The last place my sources have them at is Volantis.”

Brynden is silent for a moment, and then he feels anger boil up inside of him. “I want your sources to find Aenar and his legitimate siblings as soon as possible, I will not have Maelys Blackfyre use them as leverage over anyone connected to us in Essos. Find them, and find them soon.” With that the council meeting ends and Brynden goes to spend time with his children, Rhaenys a grown woman now with a child of her own is off visiting the Martells in Dorne along with Aegyl, his daughter had become a strong woman with some very strong opinions on how things should be done, her son Aegyl was a charming boy of four and had brought new life to Rhaenys after Maelor had died, sometimes he still debated the wisdom of allowing that match to go through.

Still his other children were young still and would be for a good while yet. Aenar was thirteen a squire for Aegon and a good swordsman, he reminded Brynden of Maelor at that age in his mannerisms and his speech, whilst Maekar and Jaehara were both still quite young and were very quiet and shy around him. As he walked from the council room followed by Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Quentyn Bracken of the Kingsguard he wondered not for the first time what life would have been like for himself had his own older brother Aenar had survived the Great Spring Sickness, he had never met Aenar but according to what Daenys and Myriah had told him, their brother had been full of life and the light in their mother’s eyes.

He sat down on the edge of the grass embankment where he found Rowena sat watching their children play, Aenar was sparring with his cousin Aelix whilst Maekar and Jaehara were running round with Aerys and Rhaella. Rowena snuggled up to him when he sat down. “How was the council meeting my love?” she asked.

Brynden sighs then and says softly. “It was good, productive. We know why Lys asked if we wished to start a trade deal with their bank. And we now have someone we can rely upon in Tyrosh. But my cousin’s children have gone missing.”

Rowena stiffens in his arms then. “They have gone missing my love? You don’t think...”

“I do not know Rowena. It is possible that he might have them, but then again we have not heard a single word from our sources across the sea about him for some time. For all we know he could be dead and they could have left of their own free will.” Brynden replies.

Rowena though does not seem entirely convinced of that. “He might not be my love. You don’t know him like I do. He will not be found if he does not want to be found. He has alluded you for so long now, who knows what he has gotten up to in that time. He managed to escape did he not?”

Brynden sighs once more. “Aye he did, but that was by chance, and we caught those who helped him escape and we have been tracking him for some time. We shall find him my love I promise you, and when we do, we shall get revenge for our little girl.”

Rowena is about to reply, when Edwyle suddenly appears in front of them and says apologetically. “I am sorry Your Graces but the king is required, Queen Aelinor has requested your presence Your Grace.”

Brynden stand sup then, kisses his wife on the top of her head and then follows Edwyle back into the main castle and towards Maegor’s Holdfast and his mother’s room. “How bad is she?”

They do not stop walking though there is a sense of urgency in Edwyle’s voice when he responds. “Very bad Your Grace. Maester Derryck has had to bleed her knee to get the blood out. Still the swelling continues to grow.”

They say no more, as they are soon entering his mother’s chambers, the scent of blood and lavender linger together, and Brynden feels slightly sick. Still he pushes past his goodbrother and walks straight to where her bed is. Maester Derryck holds his arm and then whispers. “I have done all I can Your Grace, but the bleeding remains it will not stop, and I fear her grace does not wish for it to stop now.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done Maester.” Brynden says before dismissing him, he then walk and kneels beside his mother. “Hello mother,” he whispers. “I have come just like you asked.”

His mother’s eyes turn towards him then, and though they are the same purple as his, they seem to burn less brightly than they have always done. “Sweetling, oh it is nice to see you. My knee Brynden, they say its bleeding to much to stop. They say I will lose the leg , but I do not wish to lose it. I’d rather die sweetling.”

Brynden’s chest seizes then. “Don’t say that mother, you have to live mother, you have to.”

His mother shakes her head. “No sweetling. You and Daenys and Myriah are grown now, with children and grandchildren of your own. The realm is at peace and is secure now. I can rest easy. Please Brynden I do not wish to be a burden anymore, the maesters will not end it without your say so, but I don’t want to die with milk of the poppy, I want to die with you here, not in a dream please sweetling.”

Brynden knows what his mother wants of him, but still he hesitates. “Mother surely there must be another way. Surely there must be!”

“No sweetling,” his mother says so calmly, its almost as if she’s comforting him. “You know what needs to be done. Don’t shirk from your duty now, sweetling I raise you better.”

Brynden feels the tears begin to run down his cheeks as he grabs the pillow from the foot of the bed, just before he does the deed he whispers. “I love you mama.” And then he holds the pillow over his mother’s face until she stops breathing. When he removes the pillow, he throws it out of the open window, and allows the tears to fall freely. Edwyle enters then and sees his mother lying motionless and then looks to Brynden who merely stares at his mother. She’s dead, and he cannot believe it, he thought she’d live forever.


	22. The Wolf Returns Home

**Lord Edwyle Stark**

Three years had passed since the death of Queen Dowager Aelinor Targaryen, the woman who had been like a mother to Edwyle, in fact she had pretty much been his mother, considering he had been eight when he was sent south to squire for Prince Maekar, and his own mother had died when he was very little, had been ailing for some time, age had caught up with her. Truly she had always been a healthy woman, showing no signs of slowing down from the frantic schedule she had maintained since she had been but a young woman, fresh into her marriage with the former King, Aerys, and yet her body was not able to take it anymore. The signs had become evident some four moons before she had succumbed, illness, a weak chest, bleary eyesight, towards the end Edwyle suspected that Queen Aelinor had lost the will to keep fighting, a fight she had been waging since Prince Maekar, had died some years previously.

Her death, whilst not an entire surprise had still him hard when Brynden had come out of her room with that vacant look in his eyes and announced the news. Edwyle had his suspicions that something more had occurred in that room, but he did not and had not wished to prod his king and goodbrother about it, deciding for once that this was a piece of information he did not need nor want to know. The king had called the council together shortly after Queen Aelinor’s remains had been interred in Summerhall alongside Prince Maekar’s  and declared that a tourney was to be held in memory of his mother. The king had kept a vacant look about him for most of the time that the tourney lasted, and had not really appeared all that interested in the events, all these years later Edwyle himself struggled to remember much about the tourney, apart from the fact that his son Brandon had won the jousting and had crowned his sister and Edwyle’s daughter Anna Queen of Love and Beauty.

After the tourney there had been more things that had needed to be discussed. There had been a dispute between Lord Luthor Tyrell and Princess Loreza Martell over borders and bandit raidings which both sides were accusing the other of leading. The matter had threatened to get very violent, with that oath Luthor Tyrell not seeing how he was in the wrong by accusing Princess Loreza of something that his own bannermen were clearly doing of their own free will. Tyrell, perhaps edged on by his wife that snide woman Olenna Redwyne, had called the Princess Loreza’s cousin Mors a snake and a traitor to the crown, something that had led to the two parties nearly coming to blows, only the intervention of the King had prevented such a thing from occurring. Eventually the matter was cleared up, and Dorne gained more land towards its northern border, something that Edwyle knew from his sources Lord Luthor was still largely bitter about, but still Dorne needed to be kept happy for now, the Tyrells would remain loyal they had no choice otherwise, after all their hold on Highgarden depended on the Iron Throne’s support.

After that drama there had been more reports from the Westerlands, Tytos Lannister was playing straight into their hands, more the king’s hands than Edwyle’s. The man was far to malleable, the men Edwyle had planted in the Rock were whispering advice into the man’s ear that was leading to his own downfall, the man’s bannermen did not respect him, neither did most of the other lords of the realm. Edwyle often wondered why the king wanted his nephew’s hold on the Westerlands to be so weak, and often found himself coming back to the same reason: Garon Lannister’s treatment of Lady Daenys. The King knew how to hold a grudge and though Lannister had been dead and buried for some years now, no one in their right mind brought the man up in front of the king, unless they wished to have their ears fall off due to the king’s ranting. Still things were working nicely there, and perhaps one day Anna might find herself as Lady of the Westerlands, if things were to continue going the course that they were now.

Thinking about Anna, made Edwyle think about the rest of his family. He had not been to Winterfell for many years now, Melissa and Rickard had both married without him being present, business in the capital having prevented him from leaving. And though he deeply regretted not being able to be there for his children, he was very proud of them. Myriah had written to him on many occasions narrating the tales that Melissa and her children had gotten up to during their visits, his eldest had always been a brave and bold girl, full of curiosity, and it seemed as if she had adapted well to the life of the mountain clans, with lots of children if the truth be told. Rickard, now Edwyle did not know much of his son as a man, when Rickard had been a lad, he had been solemn and shy, not speaking very much, more content to allow Melissa and his cousin Jon to steal much of the limelight. Rickard had wed seven years ago to Lady of Clan Flint and though they had reportedly had a happy marriage, the woman had not produced a child for Rickard, and had died giving birth to a stillborn son, Rickard had yet to marry again, or even look for another wife, and Edwyle was worried that he never would, the succession needed to be secure and soon, for the events that would come in the future.

His thoughts stopped when he saw the curved oaken doors of the council chamber and saw Ser Quentyn Bracken and his own son Ser Brandon Stark standing guard. Edwyle nodded at both men and walked through the opened doors. When he entered the chambers, he found that most of the council was already gathered: Master of Laws Aegon Targaryen Prince of Summerhall, Master of Coin Lord Allem Dayne, Master of Ships Lord Tyrek Baratheon, Master of Whispers Prince Maron Martell and three year termed Grand Maester Pycelle. The old grand maester, Maester Derryck had died in his sleep three years ago he had served the royal family since the days of King Daeron the Good, and had offered the king and Edwyle some very good council over the years, he was still sorely missed but this Pycelle fellow seemed to know his stuff, he was still quite quiet and shy around Edwyle though, but then again most people were Edwyle had noticed, still so long as the man did his job and kept loyal to the throne, he would not need to worry.

He moved to his seat to the right of the king’s own seat and remained standing as soon enough the doors to the council chamber opened and the King walked in followed by Ser Oberyn Dayne the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Once the king had bid them all sit, Edwyle looked at the king to see what was on his mind, the king looked haggard and ill at ease, Edwyle knew that Lady Daenys was deeply ill, struggling with the sweating sickness and that the Queen herself was struggling with the illness, no doubt the king was up most of the night trying to make sure his wife remained safe and well. Still his voice was strong when he spoke. “Now what matters are there for us to discuss my lords, and I do not wish to discuss some simple matter that Tyrell keeps bringing to court with his oaf of a uncle. The Martells know what their place is, it is best that Luthor Tyrell learns his as well.”

Edwyle repressed a smile at that, the King clearly did not like the Tyrell, and the feeling Edwyle knew was mutual still he spoke up before Maron Martell could voice any more opinions on the matter. “There is the issue of the sweating sickness Your Grace. Reports have come in from the Westerlands and from the Vale, it has claimed many lives and the people of King’s Landing feat that it will come here as well.”

The King nodded. “Aye, a raven came from the Eyrie, Jon’s wife has succumbed to the sickness as well. Very well, inform Loren that I want patrols out and a decree issued that those who develop the symptoms are either to be purged or quarantined. And make sure that those ships coming from the east and the west are thoroughly checked.” Edwyle nodded and made a note of that. The King then asked. “What more is there to discuss?”

Maron Martell spoke then. “There is Your Grace. Word has come from my sources in Tyrosh, our Archon has died and his replacement is looking to be in ill health as well. Maelys Blackfyre has moved the Golden Company into Volantis though, and it seems he seeks to enter an alliance with pirates and cut throats, for one purpose only. Furthermore, Prince Aerion’s children have been found after many years of searching. They were in Qarth for many a year, but are now back in Myr, under secure guard from my men.”

Edwyle saw the king nod briefly before he asked. “Do you still have men in the company itself Maron?” When Martell nodded the king went on. “Good, I want you to write to them, and tell them that they are to poison this alliance with the pirates and the cutthroats I do not want another war on my hands. Nor do I want Blackfyre to have the ships necessary for doing such a thing. Also make sure that this time my cousin’s children remain under your supervision. Anything else to discuss?”

Maester Pycelle spoke then. “A raven arrived from the citadel this morning Your Grace. It confirmed all that we have thought true for the past few years, Summer is at an end and Autumn has arrived officially, and with it soon shall winter.”

There was some murmuring in the chamber at that and Tyrek Baratheon joked. “What is it you Starks always say Edwyle? Winter is coming? Well it seems as if you were right.”

Edwyle merely looked at the man and then turned his attention back to the King, Baratheon was a boy playing a man’s game, his father had raised him well, but the boy was still corrupt and spoilt at the bone. The king was silent for a long moment and then said. “Very well, I believe it is time that we send ravens to the Lords of the Crownlands and tell them to bring in the harvest. Now if that is all, I say we call this meeting to an end.”

With that the meeting ended and Edwyle was walking back to the Tower of the Hand when his goodbrother stopped him and said. “Edwyle, come walk with me if you would.” Edwyle nodded and turned round and walked towards the king, once he was stood next to the king, they began walking towards the king’s chambers. They walked in silence for a while before the king spoke. “I want you to return to Winterfell Ed.”

Edwyle looked at the king then not sure if he had heard properly. “Your Grace?”

The king sighed and said. “I want you to return to Winterfell, visit your family. Relax with Myriah away from all of this trouble here in the south. You have not been home for what sixteen years now? Go home Ed, get some rest you deserve it, we shall manage fine without you for a wee while.”

“If that is what you wish Your Grace. But then will you name a temporary hand in my place?”Edwyle asked.

The king sighed once more. “Aye that is what I wish, and no I shall not be naming a temporary hand. None of these fools deserve at court deserve even that honour no, I shall continue to attend the meetings even in your absence.”

They continued walking towards the king’s chambers in silence for a moment before Edwyle asked. “How does the Queen fare Your Grace?”

The king sighed once more and Edwyle saw the tiredness begin to creep back into his face. “Well, she sleeps for most of the day now, and sleeps occasionally at night. Pycelle tells me the worst of the sickness is over, so hopefully all shall be well from here. Until Rowena opens her eyes though I will not stop working.”

Edwyle nodded and then once they reached the entrance to the King’s chambers said his farewells and returned to his rooms in the tower of the hand where he began preparing for  his trip back to Winterfell. He had not been back to Winterfell for sixteen years, had never seen the need to, Myriah had ruled it well in his absence and when he had come of age so had Rickard. Still he supposed it would not hurt to venture back north, if for nothing more than to see his wife once more.

Once all the preparations had been made Edwyle and twenty members of his household guard set of for the north, for home. It took them a three weeks to get to Winterfell, along the way Edwyle began seeing the first proper signs of autumn beginning to hit Westeros, the leaves were falling to the ground, people were bringing the crops in from the harvest. Once they reached the Neck they were feasted by the cranongmen foremost amongst them the over loyal Lord Reed of Greywater Watch, Edwyle felt as if he would not be able to eat another thing for a whole moon when he left the floating fortress.

Still when Winterfell’s formidable walls loomed upon the horizon he spurred his horse on and was the first person through the gates, where he found his wife and son waiting for him. Once he had dismounted and greeted them both, he spent some time looking around the castle, it had not changed all that much since he had last been here, the walls were still solid, the castle itself was the same, as were the people, the only difference being that the broken tower was now not broken, construction on it had begun some five years ago. It appeared as if the hard work had paid off.

“My lord,” his son said formally. “Welcome back home. A feast has been prepared for your return, but I know you and the men must be tired, so we shall wait until the evening before begin the festivities.”

Edwyle nodded and then walked with his wife back to the castle and his solar as he did so she filled him in on all that he had missed. “When did Rickard become so able to speak my love?” Edwyle joked.

“Oh he’s been doing a lot of that recently; it seems that he has finally come out of his grief since his wife died.” Myriah replied.

Edwyle nodded and then asked. “Has he thought about any prospective brides? Winterfell’s succession needs to be secure my love. Have any of the lords thought about offering the hands of their daughters or sisters to him?”

They entered the castle and began walking towards his solar, and Myriah replied softly. “Aye there have been many offers my love, but Rickard has not looked at a single one of them. Not since Cora died at least. Though now you are here perhaps he will begin to look at them.”

Edwyle sighed that was worrying indeed. “Very well, I shall discuss the matter with him on the morrow. But tell me, how has Melissa been doing?”

Myriah smiled, and Edwyle felt his heart sing at the sight of that smile, he hadn’t seen it for so long. “She is doing well my love. A raven arrived this morning she is with child once more.”

Edwyle laughed. “Gods above how many is that now? Six or seven?”

“It will be her seventh child my love. Dorren will be thirteen soon enough.” Myriah replied.

Once they entered his chambers, not his solar conversation stopped for a long time. Then at the feast Edwyle remained silent whilst his wife entertained the guests with conversation and other such filler, and he revelled once more in how beautiful Myriah looked whilst she was doing that. Edric Glover Master of Deepwood Motte approached him towards the end of the feast speaking in hushed tones about whether or not Rickard would consent to wedding his daughter Arya Glover, Edwyle said he would speak with his son about the matter on the morrow and get back to him. Surprisingly, Glover was the only one brave enough to come up and ask Edwyle directly about his son, the other lords were all scared of him, intimidated by the reputation he had developed over the years. It suited him just fine, he wanted some peace just now, not more politics.

Still it seemed to him as if the politics of the south continued to follow him even when he was away, for later that night once the feast was done but before he could go to bed, Maester Walys placed a letter in his hand written in the king’s own script, announcing that his sister Daenys Lannister had died from the sweating sickness. Edwyle felt something drop within him, Myriah was very upset when he told her that night, and as he held her as she cried, he could not help but think that perhaps Daenys Lannister’s death had something more to do with the king than either of them had first thought. He would need to look into it.


	23. The Tamed Lion

**Lord Tytos Lannister**

 

The flames had licked at his mother’s body upon the funeral pyre, as was tradition for the Targaryens his mother had been cremated, her ashes though would not be going back to King’s Landing or Dragonstone, no they had been interred in the Hall of Heroes with Tytos’ father and two elder brothers. Despite what his uncle might think, Tytos knew that his mother had truly loved his father and that the feeling had been mutual. To him it seemed only right that they remain together now that they were no longer in this world, along with Lucion and Loren, his two older brothers who had died in battle.

There were times when Tytos still had a hard time believing that he was Lord of the Rock, this cup had never been meant for him, it had always been meant for Lucion and Loren, the two older brothers, the two stronger and wiser brothers. Everything had been, from the lordship to Tytos’ own wife, Myrcella was a proud woman from House Tarbeck, a strong woman, a beautiful woman and there were times when Tytos feared that he was not good enough for her, or for the lordship or even for their children: Tywin, Kevan, Tygett, Genna and Gerion.

He knew what his bannermen and even some of the servants whispered behind their cups and hands at meals and feasts, that he was too nice of a person to be Lord of the Rock, that his father would never have stood for the insults that Lord Damon Reyne continued to throw at him, that his father would have marched on Castamere and put it to the sword for their lord’s impudence. Tytos often had to restrain himself from shouting at such people, that his father was dead now killed by outlaws, and he was not mourned, no, no one mourned Garon Lannister, the man was not loved his father had been feared and despised but not loved, no the only person who it seemed had ever loved Garon Lannister had been Tytos’s mother, despite the fact that the man beat her and abused her constantly.

Growing up in the shadow of two elder brothers, had given Tytos the room he needed to hide and be his own person, he had never wanted the limelight, had never expected it to pass to him, and yet now it had and sometimes he wondered if he were even up to the job. Sometimes he wondered if perhaps he should just take the black and let his wife and brother Gerion rule until Tywin came of age, perhaps they would do a much better job about it. But there was something that kept him from actually acting on that feeling was his pride, and the fact that he had been taught to never abandon his duty to his family and to his people, he would hold on even if it killed him.

The king had come to Casterly Rock for the tourney being held in Daenys Lannister’s memory, Tytos’ uncle King Brynden was not an imposing man by any means, he was of an average height with a lithe build, but he radiated a certain aura about him, a certain strength that had always impressed Tytos, awed him a little even. The king had come with his wife Queen Rowena, as well as with his sons Aenar and Maekar as well as with his grandson Prince Aegyl the Prince of Dragonstone, along with four knights of the Kingsguard, all of whom were meant to compete in the tourney at one point or another.

Tytos knew that things between his family and his uncle’s family had been tense since the Blackfyre rebellions had first started; it all had something to do with King Daeron the good keeping Tytos’ grandfather and great uncle hostages in King’s Landing to ensure Damon Lannister’s support. Something about that action had caused years of subdued bitterness and resentment and suspicion to brew between the two houses, despite the fact that both Tytos’ father and grandfather had served on the small council. Tytos himself was relieved that he had not been asked to serve; he was not as politically savvy as his wife was, nor did he truly wish to venture into the snake pit that was King’s Landing, besides he did not think that his uncle truly thought much of him anyway.

The tourney itself seemed to be going well; the archery contest had been held and had been won by Lord William Osgrey of Coldmoat, the man a war hero of the last Blackfyre rebellion. Second place had been Tytos’ brother Gerion, who had been scowling ever since. The melee had taken place earlier that day as well, seeing all those men fight in the ring battering each other to pieces, had brought back memories of seeing Lucion and Loren do something similar when they had all been boys, it had stirred something of an ache inside of him, but the eventual winner had been declared. Lord Tyrek Baratheon had won the day with his mace.

That just left the jousting which had begun a few moments before, Tytos brought himself back into the present in time to see Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard unhorse Ser Simon Tully, bringing the man crashing down with a mighty big thump, the commons cheered, for the man they called the White Wolf, the youngest ever knight to be raised to the guard. After that the jousting seemed to fly by, Tytos watched as Ser Brandon Stark made lightning quick work of Ser Albar Hightower unhorsing him in a single tilt, Stark then unhorsed Ser Alex Yronwood in two tilts, and then needed just a single tilt to bring down Ser Quentyn Bracken , his sworn brother. In the other jousts, Prince Aenar had advanced far as well unhorsing most of those he faced in a single tilt or two. Eventually the semi finalists were Ser Brandon Stark, who had quickly become the favourite to win, Prince Aenar another favourite, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Loren Reyne. It took Prince Aenar five attempts before he eventually unhorsed Ser Loren Reyne, Ser Brandon needed just two to unhorse his fellow sworn brother.

The atmosphere in the ground as the two finalists lined up was thick with tension, the crowd was divided over whom they wanted to win, with some cheering on the ‘White Wolf’ as Ser Brandon had become known as, and others cheering on Prince Aenar, who reminded many of his brothers Maelor and Baelor. Both men shot off from their stands and the lances crashed against one another, breaking at contact, though both riders remained on their horses. They rode back and grabbed another lance, and the same thing happened again, the crowd waited with baited breath. Again and again the two riders clashed against one another, the crowd still held its breath, nine tilts later a winner was declared when Ser Brandon Stark managed to raise his lance high enough to hit Prince Aenar square in the chest with enough force to knock him from his horse. The crowd went wild cheering and shouting as if their whole lives depended on it. Ser Brandon did a few victory laps of the ground, shook hands with the prince and then took the garland of roses from the King and placed it on the head of some lady from the Riverlands, whom Tytos would later learn was called Minisa Whent.

The tourney completed, it was time for the feasting to begin, and the great hall of the Rock was packed full to bursting, so much so that extra tents were erected outside the hall for those knights and other retainers of those who had come for the tourney. There was food and drink and noise a plenty, this was the sort of thing that Tytos liked doing, this was something he was good at, getting people to enjoy themselves, not the serious politicking his wife engaged in, but pure and simple festivities. Prince Aenar seemed much recovered from the fall he had taken and Tytos saw that the prince had his hands down some serving wench’s dress, the King was sat next to Tytos and was very quiet, simply staring out into the hall.

It was Myrcella who broke the silence between the four of them, asking “Did you enjoy the festivities and the tourney Your Grace?”

The Queen responded. “Yes my lady, it was a very nice event I must say, though it would have been nice had Aenar managed to win.”

Tytos saw his wife smile, and her voice was deceptively sweet as she said. “Ah yes, still it was a very good tournament no?”

The Queen nodded, and the king spoke then. “Yes it was a very good tourney, thank you for holding it Tytos. I am sure Daenys would have loved it.”

Tytos bowed his head at the compliment. “You are too kind Your Grace.”

“I merely speak the truth.” The king replied. “Regardless, I must have words with you tomorrow about certain issues pertaining to your bannermen.”

Tytos nodded, whilst under the table Myrcella squeezed his hand. He did not need to be a mind reader to know what his uncle wished to speak with him about. Sure enough the next day, whilst half the castle was nursing a sore head from the feast, and the other half was still fast asleep, Tytos was stood next to his uncle, looking out over the scene before them from the window. The king spoke then, and his voice sounded tired and old. “Before we speak of what we must, I have one thing to inform you of. I am aware that your son Tywin is squiring with Jon Arryn. Well my grandson met Tywin yesterday during a lull in the jousting, and has asked if he could foster with Jon Arryn as well, I have agreed to it on the condition that your son make sure he keeps an eye on Aegyl, my grandson is smart but he is still a boy far from home. Make sure Tywin keeps an eye on him.” Tytos nodded and voiced his agreement, then the king sighed and said. “My sources report that there is some troubling brewing here in the West between you and the Reynes. I would hear the truth of the matter from you nephew.”

Tytos was silent for a moment and then he said carefully. “Lord Reyne is a very strong minded individual who holds certain beliefs very dear, and as such those beliefs tend to contradict mine. Whatever threats he has made, are not serious ones, nor would he try and uphold them. He is smart, not stupid.”

His uncle did not seem convinced. “I would not take the man lightly Tytos. House Reyne has proved their loyalty in the years since the first Blackfyre war, but still they remain an ambitious house and will do almost anything to further their chance to gain more power. Why do you think Ser Loren Reyne was wed to Anna Stark? Connections to me through Edwyle.”

“So are you saying that I should punish Lord Reyne the next time he says something derogatory about me or mine? That I should pull down Castamere brick by brick until it is nothing but ruins?” Tytos asked.

The king sighed. “No Tytos. What I suggest you do is stand up to Reyne with your words not your actions. A sharp reminder as to whom is in charge through your words will put the man back into his place and make him never step the line once more. Now what is this I hear about you trying to betroth your daughter to one of Lord Walder Frey’s sons?”

Tytos grimaced at that. “Nothing is finalised yet Your Grace. When it is I shall let you know.”

The king nodded and turned to leave, but at the door he stopped and said. “Just make sure you do not do anything that could make matters worse for you here Tytos. House Lannister is not as secure as your father used to think it was.”

A few days later the king and the rest of the royal party left for King’s Landing, Tytos watched their horses disappear on the horizon with his uncle’s words echoing in his head. They kept echoing in his head as he dealt with various things around the castle for the next few days, and they continued to echo and resound with him as he dealt with various lords over the next few weeks as well, when Lord Tarbeck began asking for more time to repay of his loan, Tytos was about to snap at him that Lions did not bow to the will of stars, but Myrcella’s hands pinching his stopped him from doing so. He had never been able to truly say no to her, and so the loan to Tarbeck continued to go without repayment, as interest continued to grow.

Damon Reyne it seemed had had words with the king for though he still had a sour expression on his face whenever he spoke with Tytos he never made the same disparaging comments that he had made before the tourney. For that Tytos was grateful, for he had feared that he would have had to call his banners to march on Castamere had Reyne not changed his tone, and that was something in which he had not looked forward to doing, for a warrior he was not. And yet there was still yet another loan there that had been given to House Reyne that went unpaid, for no other reason than Damon Reyne did not wish to pay it back yet, and Tytos did not want to enflame relations by bringing it up.

The moons ticked by and two days before the new year was to be welcomed in, Tywin came home from the Vale and a letter came from the Twins writ in Walder Frey’s elegant hand informing him that he had accepted Tytos’ offer of a betrothal, and would be setting out to seal the deal once the new year had been welcomed in. The man arrived with a veritable army of his family some three weeks later, and Tytos felt rather nervous, he needed this all to go well and he needed his wife and daughter to both stop glowering at him.

When the betrothal was announced in front of those gathered in the hall, there was silence and then lots of loud murmuring, out the corner of his eye Tytos saw Damon Reyne storm out of the hall, clearly he had expected Genna to be wed to his eldest son, who was ill. Elyn Tarbeck, Myrcella’s goodsister was crying with laughter, and Walder Frey seemed mildly offended by all the furore, and then Tywin spoke. “You cannot be serious father.”

The hall went silent, and Tytos felt a flush begin to creep up his neck. “Silence Tywin, I am deadly serious. House Frey is a proud and honourable house, and we will do well to ally ourselves with them.”

There was some murmuring and then silence as Tywin spoke once more. “Have you lost your senses father? Lord Walder offers Genna not the hand of his first born son and heir, not even his eldest grandson, but the hand of his second born son who stands to inherit nothing. That is nothing but a disgrace and a slander against House Lannister.”

There was much murmuring then, and Tytos saw Lord Walder beginning to puff up with anger, Tytos spoke quickly trying to keep his voice soft. “My apologise Lord Walder, it is past my son’s bed time, and he has spoken out of turn not due to malice but because he is tired.”

“But I am not father; no if anything it is you who seems tired.” Tywin replied. “Surely you have not forgotten where House Frey came from? Nor what this would do to our reputation, already the Red Lion has stalked out of the hall.”

“Tywin,” Tytos hissed. “Enough stop this nonsense and apologise to Lord Walder.”

His son thought stood resolute in his defiance; much like his mother would do if she thought she was in the right. “I cannot father, I am sorry, but if you will not speak of the insult this has done to our family I must do so. This marriage alliance brings us nothing but the scorn of our bannermen, it does not fill up our coffers with gold that we need, nor does it bring us more prestige.”

The hall was deathly silent now, all eyes were on them, Tytos was completely red in the face now, his wife was smiling slyly and there seemed to be hero worship in Genna’s eyes. Lord Walder seemed incredibly angry, as did his son Emmon, the boy Genna was to be married to. Tytos spoke then. “Gerion,” Tytos said to his brother, who stood up then. “Take Tywin back to his chambers, he has had too much to drink.” His brother nodded and helped Tywin away from the hall, his son was not drunk but he might as well have been for the embarrassment he had just caused Tytos. He turned to Lord Walder to try and salvage something from this wreck. “Lord Walder, I apologise for my son’s behaviour, he spoke out of line and did not mean what he said.”

Lord Walder was silent for a long time and when Tytos looked at the man; his weasel face was red with anger. Eventually he spoke and his voice was laced with anger and spite. “Apologise all you like Lord Lannister, but the words your son has spoken have deeply hurt me and mine. I do not know whether to laugh or curse you, for inviting me here to your home if you were to simply insult me, at least have the decency to say it to my face yourself, do not hide behind your son. I do not think that wedding my boy into a house whose lord cannot even control his own children is what is best for me and mine. So I shall take your leave.”


	24. I'm Just A Dreamer, I Dreamed My Life Away

**King Brynden I Targaryen**

Westeros was at peace, and had been for some time now, the last Blackfyre rebellion had been crushed brutally, those who had sided with the Black dragon in the past had changed their loyalty and sworn unending fealty to the throne and to the Targaryens, and so far they seemed like they would be keeping that oath. Osgrey, Reyne, Ambrose, these houses and many more had in the past sided with the Blackfyres and yet now were amongst some his staunched supporters, songs were still sung of when Lord William Osgrey had come and saved King’s Landing from the force of sellswords and savages during the last war, whilst Brynden had been putting House Lothston and its men and women and children to the sword.

Loren Reyne the heir to Castamere was commander of the gold cloaks and a fierce knight as well, he was also wed to Edwyle’s daughter Anna and with her had had two children, a boy whom he had named Edwyle after his former tutor and a girl Myriah after Brynden’s sister. The boy, for that was what he was no matter his age, was of proven loyalty and had done much to raise the reputation of the city watch and his house, his father Lord Damon Reyne was a idiot who thought more with his sword than his brain. The man continued to antagonize Tytos Lannister and continued to alienate himself from his own bannermen let alone potential allies. Brynden knew that Edwyle thought he was allowing so much antagonism within the Westerlands to stand because he had never liked his nephew’s father, and whilst that was partially the reason, there was more to it, but it was something he could not voice not openly, and not even in his own thoughts.

There had also been troubling news from the Vale, Brynden’s goodbrother Jon Arryn’s wife Jeyne Royce had died, without any issue, according to the letter and from what Rowena had told him, Jeyne Royce had given birth to three stillborn sons and a stillborn daughter, the daughter being the child that killed her. Lord Arryn was now looking for another bride, and as such was looking closer to home, his cousin Selena was now betrothed to him, and whilst Brynden wished his goodbrother the best of luck, somehow he doubted that much would come from the betrothal. There seemed to be some sort of curse hovering over the Arryns of the Eyrie, something that thankfully seemed to have evaded his own wife and children, but still there was something there, and it was concerning.

There had been whisperings from the Vale that some of its lords were conspiring for what Brynden knew not, and he was not entirely sure whether or not he believed the rumours. The lords of the Vale had always been loyal to the Arryns had been since the Andals had conquered the kingdom of the Vale. But there were reports that Maron had given him that reported that the cadet branch of the family, the Arryns of Gulltown had been meeting with a series of nobles close to the city, and had been having deep discussions. Maron did not have the sources to get close to the Gulltown Arryns the Lord was far too clever to allow that, but something about it was giving Brynden sleepless nights. After all his grandson Aegyl was squiring in the Eyrie, along with Tytos’ son Tywin, according to the letters that Brynden got from his grandson and from Ser Lucas Goodbrook of the Kingsguard, his grandson was having a thoroughly enjoyable time in the Eyrie, learning all it meant to be a knight and to be a soldier. According to his daughter Rhaenys, when Aegyl wrote to her, he always gushed about Tywin Lannister, it was clear that his grandson was in awe of Brynden’s great nephew. A thought that amused him greatly, considering the history between their two houses.

He had met Tywin once very briefly at the Rock when he had come for the tourney to celebrate the life of his sister. The boy seemed to be very serious and dour, as if he was constantly angry with the world. This was something that seemed to be reflected in his siblings, especially the boy Tygett who always walked around with a permanent scowl on his face. If he was being brutally honest, Brynden was not surprised that Tywin Lannister seemed to always be angry and unsmiling, if he had a father like Tytos, he too would be pissed off much of the time. His nephew had a good heart but was not meant to rule, he was too kind and the Rock had given out loans to its bannermen that had yet to be paid, in fact Brynden remembered hearing that the Westerlings stilled owed the Rock some 200 dragons repayment on a loan the lord of the crag had taken out some six years ago. There would be war in the Westerlands soon enough, Brynden knew the only question was when and who would be the ones leading the sides.

There had also been a marriage in the time since his visit to the Rock. Edwyle’s oldest son Rickard Stark had married one Arya Glover, some two moons past, and as such both the newlyweds seemed very happy. Edwyle himself had seemed much fuller of life after the wedding than he normally did, most likely because his son was now married and there would be a high likelihood that the succession of Winterfell would be secured. That was good and Brynden was happy for his friend, after all when the darkness came the North would be the key to holding it off.

Sighing, he looked at the papers in front of him, so much was riding on the words written on these two sheets of paper, the future of the Targaryen Dynasty and that of Westeros was written on those two sheets of paper before him. Whilst he was not exactly old, he knew he was no longer as young as he had once been, and as of late death had been on his mind, and he did not wish for a succession crisis to happen, Aegyl was still a boy after all but Rhaenys, she was a woman grown with experience in ruling and politics. That was why he had summoned his closest advisors to his solar today to discuss the words written on the two sheets in front of him.

Sat before him were his hand Edwyle Stark, his wife Rowena, his cousin Prince Aegon of Summerhall and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Oberyn Dayne. He trusted all of them implicitly, and knew that should he go before he was ready, they would carry out his orders to the best of their abilities. “My lords and lady,” he began. “We are here now, to discuss my will and testament. Whilst you might say that it is early to be discussing such things, recent events have shown me that we must prepare for all eventualities. As such the two documents bear my last will pertaining to whom I wish to succeed me as King or Queen on the Iron Throne, should I die before Aegyl becomes Sixteen. What is said in this room must not leave it until I am dead and buried.” Once the lords and his wife had all nodded their agreement and voiced it he spoke again. “In the first sheet of paper, I have named my eldest daughter Rhaenys as my heir, should I die before Aegyl turns ten Rhaenys shall assumed the Iron Throne not as Queen Regent but as the first Queen Regnant Westeros has had in some time. Whilst I know the rules the Dance enforced on us, I know Rhaenys will do all she can to ensure that a Targaryen always sits the throne. She has not wed since Maelor’s death though she has had plenty opportunity to do so. She is also skilled in the arts of court and the game that these sheep play. The second sheet of paper, names Aegyl as my direct successor should I die after Aegyl turns ten but before he turns sixteen, Rhaenys and my wife shall serve as Regents for him until he comes of age. Should either scenario arise it will be up to you three and the small council to decide which will to use.”

There is silence for a moment and then Edwyle speaks as Brynden knew he would. “A wise move Your Grace, especially considering the threat across the narrow sea. We shall all endeavour to maintain the standards you have set should you pass before your time. Have no fear on that count.”

Rowena, Aegon and Oberyn all voice their agreement and then they along with Edwyle fix their seals to the document with Maester Pycelle being present as the witness to it. After that Rowena leaves to see their children, and Brynden, Edwyle and Aegon are left in the room. Brynden lets them all settle down once more before he speaks once more. “Aegon, I have let this issue sit for some time now, as there have been other more pressing matters that were needed to be discussed. However, now I feel that now is the right time to discuss this issue once more. Duncan and Jaehaerys both wed for love and only Jaehaerys marriage has produced children, Rhaelle has wed Tyrek Baratheon with his good side and his bad and has children. Only Aelix has not wed and now at the age of twenty eight that must be a concern for you. The boy must marry Aegon, and we must discuss whom.”

His cousin- his brother in truth- is silent for a long moment clearly uncomfortable with what they are discussing, Aegon always has been, he wed his sister Rhae for love before he thought he would become Prince of Summerhall, and as such has been reluctant to stop his own children from marrying for love, despite some of the consequences this has had. “Whilst I can appreciate why you belief it is necessary for Aelix to marry now Your Grace, I do not see what the hurry is. The line of succession for the Iron Throne is secure, as is the line of succession for Summerhall. The Blackfyres are wilting away, with only Maelys Blackfyre and his sister left.”

Brynden sighs and says. “Yes that is all true, but Duncan still has no children himself, and I would rather see him sit as Prince of Summerhall when your time comes than Jaehaerys, for though Jaehaerys is strong of mind, his health is the key issue. Summerhall is the key to holding the Stormlands from invasion, and it is a strong symbol of Targaryen power. Duncan needs to have an heir who is healthy and can lead men, if not from his own body than surely Aelix is the next best option?”

Aegon bristles slightly then and says. “Whilst Duncan may have no children with Jenny, Jaehaerys has children, Aerys will be Jaehaerys heir, and will be more than capable of ruling should anything happen to Duncan and Jaehaerys. You need not worry on that account Your Grace. Allow Aelix some more freedom before we confine him to marriage.”

Brynden grits his teeth then and says. “I will not allow a half Blackfyre to rule Summerhall Aegon. Good men and women have died over the past sixty years fighting to keep the Blackfyres from any sort of power. I will not give them the satisfaction of having one of their own sitting in one of the most powerful seats in the realm. No Aelix must wed and he must wed soon, he has been a bachelor for long enough now.”

Aegon does not shout but his tone is deathly cold when he replies. “You might not want a Blackfyre sitting in Summerhall, but might I remind you Your Grace, that Aerys and Rhaella are also Targaryen. They would rule well, and would help keep Tyrek in line. I will speak with Aelix but I can guarantee you nothing more than that.” With that he bids leave to go, and Brynden grants it to him with a heavy heart.

Edwyle speaks after a moment of silence. “You could have approached that with some more subtlety Your Grace. Prince Aegon has always been sensitive when the matter of his children’s lives comes into perspective. A lighter touch could have gotten him to agree more readily to the proposal.”

Brynden groans then. “I am done being subtle with him, it is time his children did their duty and did what was good for the realm. That commoner that Duncan has wed has not given him an heir despite years of marriage, no pregnancies; I have a feeling that perhaps she is letting that wood’s witch give her moon tea. Soon I will need to have that marriage annulled. No matter what he says, Aegon knows that having Aerys as the heir will be the biggest mistake he could make, that boy is not so stable as to rule. No Aelix must wed and soon before what we both know will come to pass comes.”

They are both silent after that before they both get up and leave for their respective rooms. A few days after that meeting, news comes from Summerhall, Princess Jenny died during childbirth, the child was stillborn, Brynden gives his cousin leave to return home for some time to allow him to mourn and console his oldest son. Eventually a few weeks after that it is made official that Aelix Targaryen the third son of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhae Targaryen of Summerhall shall wed Genna Lannister when the girl comes of age. The Frey betrothal being broken a blessing in disguise. As for Duncan, well Brynden is not so heartless as to bring up potential marriages for him now no that can wait for another time.

When the council meets for the first time in a moon, some good news is finally heard. Lord Allem Dayne, Brynden’s cousin by marriage speaks confidently. “I have good news my lords, Your Grace. After months of waiting, the royal bank has finally been finished. It shall stand on the Street of Copper guarded by some forty Goldcloaks with the best people there to provide services. Already demand is coming in thick and fast for use of its services. From Riverrun to Highgarden.”

“That is good.”Brynden replies. “How soon will we be able to match the Iron Bank for reputation and loans?”

Lord Allem is silent for a moment before he says. “I would say roughly ten or so years, the Iron Bank has fallen out of favour with the Lords of Westeros since the debacle with the Archon in Tyrosh and in Myr as well. Their repute is slowly being eroded as well. Soon we shall have their trade and custom.”

Brynden nods and then turns to Maester Pycelle the young maester still so nervous and unsure of himself despite being on the council for three years now. “Pycelle what news from the West? How fares our red lion?”

Maester Pycelle is silent for a moment before he replies. “Gravely ill Your Grace. Maester Barbar writes that Lord Damon is knocking on death’s door and will likely be gone by the year’s end if not sooner. His son will soon be Lord of Castamere.”

Brynden nods. “That is good, very good. Once Damon Reyne is dead, then we can begin thinking about the future of the Westerlands good and proper without worrying about that oath getting in the way.” As he says those words he looks to Edwyle then, and though his friend’s expression is neutral, he knows that his goodbrother is unsure what to think or feel, on  the one hand Damon Reyne was a friend to him, on the other his death will mean that soon enough his goodson and then his grandson will be one of the most powerful lords in the Westerlands able to combat the Lannisters influence and wealth. Brynden asks a question then. “Now Maron, what news do you have for me?”

Prince Maron Martell, a sly devil but fun as hell to be around grins slightly before speaking. “Well Your Grace, as you have asked me to do the Archon of Tyrosh is now someone who is sympathetic to our cause, and our sources within the Golden Company report the discord amongst the higher ranking officers. According to one source, some of the commanders are not happy with having Maelys Blackfyre constantly leading them on death marches through the Disputed Lands and Volantis and are considering simply trying to come back to Westeros.”

Brynden snorts. “Unless they kill both Blackfyres for me, they can keep dreaming. What of our friends of flame?”

Maron Martell smiles a sly smile then and says. “They are safe and secure Your Grace. There was an attempt by men loyal to the old Prince of Pentos to smuggle them to Tyrosh, but the men were killed and the Prince disappeared the next night. Both sets of children are safe, though one of my sources reports that a red priest has ventured from Volantis for them.”

Brynden snaps to attention then. “A red priest? Why would a red priest be interested in them? They have no claim to the throne.”

“They have royal blood Your Grace. Other than that I know not what this priest is doing so far from Asshai.” Maron replies.

“Very well, I want more information as it comes. And I will want this priest dealt with should his motives be in conflict with our own.” Brynden replies.

After that discussion alternates between the building of more Drummonds for the royal fleet, discussing taxes and other sources of income for the royal coffers, and finally the death of Lord Matarys Velaryon the old Lord of Driftmark, a man who had ruled the Driftmark since Brynden’s grandfather had ascended the Iron Throne. The Velaryons had fallen from favour during his time, he had made some questionable moves and alliances and had even provided some support to the Blackfyres during the third Blackfyre rebellion. Still the man was a proud lord and an able soldier and as such condolences are sent to the Driftmark. Three weeks after that council meeting, a raven arrives from their sources across the sea, it seems Maelys Blackfyre has finally stirred himself from the east, an alliance with pirates has captured Myr. 


	25. Black Hole Sun

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

The flames shone brightly, and smoke was wafting through the air. Aegon stood as close to the pyre as he could possibly bear, and yet his eyes did not water, he wondered about that, was it because he was blood of the dragon, or was it simply because he had no tears left to shed?  Rhae had died in her sleep last night, succumbing peacefully and so suddenly that Aegon had found himself completely caught off guard. There was a hole in his heart where Rhae used to be, a very, very large hole that would not be filled at all if ever again.

He had been married to Rhae since he was twenty, he was now 59 and his hair was turning white, and his bones were beginning to ache. Rhae had been the healthy one, she always had even when they were children, filled with so much energy and life as she had been. It seemed strange that she was gone whilst he was still here. It made little sense to him, when he thought of the vows they had sworn to each other, that long ago day in the Sept. None of it made any sense; it felt as if his world was being turned upside down.

He looked at his children, Duncan who was stood solemnly next to him, his shoulders drawn tighter than a bowstring. Jaehaerys, who was blinking furiously, obviously was trying not to cry, Aelix who was holding tightly to his wife’s hand, and Rhaelle who was crying into her husband’s arms. These were his children, his and Rhae’s, she had always looked so beautiful when she was with child, it was as if her skin always glowed when she was pregnant. And now she was gone, dead, reduced to ash, the flames were dying out now, and still Aegon stood in front of the pyre, watching and waiting, not wanting leave just yet.

He was still standing in front of the pyre when the flames died and ash was all that was left. Duncan moved forward and put the ashes into a jar that would be buried in the crypts of Summerhall, where their father and mother had been buried along with Daeron and Aerion. His children hugged him and then walked back inside, as did Brynden, his cousin and king, Daella too hugged him and then walked back inside. Still he remained standing in front of the pyre, lost in his thoughts and memories. They had wed shortly after a tourney in King’s Landing, held to celebrate King Aerys’ nameday, their father had not been pleased when they had brought the news to him, he had wanted to wed Rhae off to some Baratheon or Tully lord, but Aegon and she had been in love for some time now and Rhae had been pregnant with Duncan, and so there had been no other option.

Once Aegon had been knighted, Prince Maekar had insisted that they move back to Summerhall, in order to keep a better eye on affairs there and on their brother Daeron. They raised Duncan there, and Rhae came into her own as a manager of the household, things that their mother had often despaired she would not be able to do. She had prospered during their years of marriage, holding the fort and looking after their children when Aegon was in King’s Landing. She had been alive to see all their children wed, Duncan’s marriage had come first to that Jenny of Oldstones girl, then Jaehaerys’ a marriage Aegon was convinced would prevent further Blackfyre invasions though Brynden was not convinced, Rhaelle’s to that fool Baratheon who she loved so fiercely, and of course finally Aelix’s.

Their youngest son had been worse than Duncan when it came to marriage, they had had offers from all sorts of houses for his hand, but Aelix kept turning the offers down and instead preferred to go travelling round the kingdoms and even Essos. And though Aegon did not approve he knew his son had spent a bit of time fighting in sellsword companies such as the Second Sons and the Company of the Cat, though of course he had been careful not to stray too close to Tyrosh.

When Aelix had wed Genna Lannister, the ceremony in the Great Sept of Baelor had been lavish just as the feast after it had been. That Genna Lannister had originally meant to be betrothed to a Frey was a matter no one seemed to have remembered, that the wedding had taken place a few moons ago in itself was an indication that both the king and Tytos Lannister were eager to see relations between their two houses repaired. Aegon was not sure whether he liked the move or not, a match with the Hightowers perhaps would have been more to his liking.

Gone were the days that Brynden listened to him though, the King spent much time in Edwyle Stark’s company and that of his wife and eldest daughter than he did with Aegon. It had not been so in the early days of his cousin’s actual rule, where he had spent every possible moment with him, Aegon had found such things annoying then but now he missed them. He missed his cousin’s questions and his laugh, and his curiosity. He was not entirely sure whether he was happy with the way Stark had influenced his cousin, turning him from a carefree youth into the grim and solemn man he saw before him, a man who put duty in front of all else, including his family.

Edwyle Stark was a man Aegon could not truly understand. He had been Aegon’s father’s squire for a long time, whilst Aegon was off travelling with Dunk, Stark was in court learning how to play the game of thrones, and endowing himself with prestige and Prince Maekar’s praise.  That was one thing that Aegon did not like about Stark, how easy he had won Prince Maekar’s praise, Prince Maekar had been a hard man, hard to impress, and the fact that Edwyle Stark seemingly won his praise with very little effort had always been rather frustrating for Aegon, but now he was a man grown and he would put such issues behind him, he was only grateful Stark had remained in King’s Landing, otherwise he didn’t think he’d be able to hold back his temper.

The days turned into weeks and Aegon remained at Summerhall ensuring that all was set to rights. He interred his wife’s ashes in the crypts and said a few final words to her, before he sealed the vault once more. He spoke with his sons about making sure Summerhall remained secure whilst he was away, there had been an increasing presence of bandits near the Dornish Marshes as of late, and Aegon did not want them coming near his home, as such he order Ser Tallad to increase patrols of the area and to call upon Lords Grandison and Fell should the need arise. He also spent a lot of time speaking to Duncan and trying to convince him to wed again, but his son had inherited Rhae’s stubbornness and plainly refused to do so, Aegon tired of the argument let the issue drop and returned to King’s Landing where he was greeted by a council session filled with grim tidings.

“There has been news from across the sea Your Grace.” Prince Maron Martell, the master of whispers said. “The band of nine has taken the Stepstones.”

There was silence for a long time and then the King spoke. “What happened to the defenders we posted there?”

Aegon watched as Maron Martell sweated under the king’s piercing gaze. “They were caught unawares Your Grace. Maelys Blackfyre and the Golden Company descended on them with great speed, and slaughtered every single one of them.”

Tyrek Baratheon speaks then his voice quiet. “What of my brother Harbert? Did he survive?”

Maron Martell shakes his head and Aegon’s good son puts his head into his hands. The king speaks once more. “Very well then, what plans has Blackfyre made with his allies then? I know they hold Tyrosh and Myr, but do they plan on conquering anywhere else?”

Martell is silent for a moment before he replies. “Well, apart from planning an invasion of Westeros, they have not set their sights anywhere else. The Prince of Pentos is sending Maelys Blackfyre men, and Blackfyre is beginning to prepare a fleet with which to raid along the coast of the Reach.”

Aegon speaks then. “A fleet you say? I thought the man already had many ships at his disposal courtesy of those pirates that are on his side?”

Aegon sees the master of whispers grimace then. “Yes my prince, they do, but Blackfyre has sent those ships to Pyke with which he means to treat with Quellon Greyjoy and bring the man onboard.”

“He will not succeed there. What does this man mean to offer Greyjoy?” The king asked.

“His sister’s hand in marriage. His sister is a young woman, and Quellon Greyjoy has many sons with which he needs to provide for.” Martell replies.

At that Aegon sighed deeply. “Then it is likely we shall have to deal with the Iron Fleet. The Greyjoys have always felt deserved to be kings.”

“Blackfyre’s offer shall not succeed.” The king said.

Aegon looked at his cousin, and was surprised to see a look of joy on his face. “What do you mean Your Grace?”

Brynden looked at him then and his face split into a wider smile. “Quellon Greyjoy will reject Blackfyre’s offer because, his daughter Alyssa shall be wed to Aegyl when they both come of age. The betrothal was finalised earlier this morning. The Iron Fleet is ours.”

Aegon was shocked by this announcement as it seemed were all the other members of the council apart from Edwyle Stark the hand. Aegon was not sure about the wisdom of such a move, the Greyjoy’s were notoriously fickle people aloud though he merely said. “So what have you asked Quellon Greyjoy to do when the pirates come knocking at his door Your Grace?”

His cousin was silent for a long moment and then he said. “He will burn their ships and kill any of the men who set foot on his lands. His bannermen have been told to do the same.”

Aegon nodded and then asked. “What of Maelys Blackfyre, though surely he will be getting more ships if not from the Iron Islands then surely from elsewhere?”

Brynden smiled slightly then and said. “Aye he can try, but whilst he is waiting and plotting we shall be marching on him and his. Maester Pycelle has sent word out to all the Lords Paramount, they are to call their banners, using some of their men to defend their coasts and rest are to join us here in King’s Landing before we march for the Stepstones.”

Aegon nodded and then Martell spoke once more. “Your Grace, there is one more issue that needs to be discussed that is of great importance.”  Aegon saw Brynden nod slightly and then Martell spoke once more. “My sources in Pentos report that The Brightflame’s eldest bastard sons have left the mansion that we have placed them in to go and fight for Maelys Blackfyre. They will make up part of the force that arrives from Pentos in a few short weeks.”

Brynden’s voice is deathly quiet when he replies. “Kill them then. Have your men kill them. They have betrayed their family and will die. Have them killed and keep a closer eye on their trueborn siblings. I will not have them join this fool of a rebellion.”

Martell nods but Aegon speaks then, his heart and not his brain leading his words. “You would kill your own blood Your Grace? They are just boys!”

His cousin’s tone was cold and brooked no further argument when he replied. “They have betrayed the trust that I have shown them, they are not my family. They will die now, and will never set foot in Westeros.”  On that ominous note the council meeting comes to an end though Aegon still feels sick to his stomach at the thought of killing his own blood.

It took two moons before the armies of Westeros could be assembled completely in King’s Landing, two moons in which Aegon prepared himself for yet another battle, it had been ten years since he had last fought in a war, and he needed to remind himself of what was expected of him. News came from Pyke, the pirate ships sent to bring Maelys Blackfyre’s offer had been put to the torch whilst at anchor along with their crews and captains. Those men that the Prince of Pentos had sent for the Stepstones had met a very unfortunate ending somewhere in the narrow sea drowned the report read. Sabotaged Aegon thought.

Once the lords paramount and their armies were assembled the Redwyne, the Velaryon  and the Royal fleet transported the soldiers and their lords from King’s Landing to the Stepstones. The King had decreed that Edwyle Stark was to remain in the city and rule in his stead, the man’s son Rickard would lead the northern forces; also remaining in King’s Landing other than Pycelle were Maron Martell and two of the knights of the Kingsguard, the rest were all coming with the king and his son Aenar. With Aegon came his sons Duncan and Aelix, as well as his trusted companion Ser Duncan the Tall.

They docked in at Tarth before moving on for the full assault, and that was where the King decided to hold his war council, with the lords paramount and Aegon and his two sons present as well.  As Aegon sat in the command tent, his sons sat next to him he spent a few moments observing the various lords paramount. Lord Tytos Lannister was a weakling, that much was evident, but he had answered the call and that was enough for Aegon, Lord Hoster Tully was young and green but seemed a capable warrior and had a sound mind for strategy, Tyrek Baratheon Aegon’s goodson was a fool who just happened to be a good warrior that was a rare thing to see. Rickard Stark was a quiet and solemn man much like his father, though he did seem to brighten up when he spoke with his brother Ser Brandon Stark. Luthor Tyrell was a fool and an oaf, whilst Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard was leading the Dornish forces in his sister’s name. These were the men who made up the war council.

The King spoke in clear voice then silencing the general chatter that had developed. “My lords I thank you for coming. You all know why we are here, another pretender has emerged to challenge my hold on the throne. I mean to see that this is the last threat that my family ever faces. I would hear your thoughts on how to proceed before we sail on for the Stepstones.”

There was silence and then Rickard Stark spoke, his voice soft. “Well Your Grace, we know that Maelys Blackfyre knows that we are sailing for the Stepstones, yet he knows not when we shall be approaching. I suggest that move off into a pincer movement and send troops to each of the different islands of the Stepstones and engage the men there.”

There is some murmuring at that, and Lord Jon Arryn speaks up in agreement. “I believe Lord Stark’s suggestion has much merit Your Grace. Maelys Blackfyre knows that the pirates he sent to bring the Greyjoys to his side have been dealt with. He has very little sea power left; he will wish to make a final stand on the Stepstones. We have the strength to out manoeuvre him if we plan ourselves cleverly.”

Lord Tytos Lannister ever the sheep voice his agreement as did Tyrek Baratheon. Luthor Tyrell though voiced some doubts about what was being suggested. “Your Grace, whilst Lord Stark and Lord Arryn’s suggestions have merit, would it not be more prudent to attack in force to throw the Blackfyre army off course?”

Aegon laughed then. “My lord of Highgarden, doing such a thing would expose ourselves to the force of the army that the pretender has. No, it would be better if we sent separate forces out to assail the forces that Maelys has on the different islands. They will not be united and it will be easier for us to take advantage of that.”

Brynden spoke then, his voice hard and firm. “We shall send forces to assail the different islands. If the reports are correct Blackfyre has allowed the Ebon Prince command over one of the islands, and the fool has spread his men over the whole island. Lords Stark and Arryn you shall combine your forces and attack that island. Lords Tully and Lannister you shall combine forces and attack the Gallows. Lords Baratheon and Martell shall join the royal army in assailing Bloodstone.”

Curiosity got the better of Aegon and he had to ask. “Why Bloodstone Your Grace?”

Brynden is silent for a moment and then he says. “Because that is where Maelys Blackfyre is camped. It is the main island of the Stepstones and that is where the fool shall make his last stand.”

Aegon does not need to know how Brynden knows that, a hawk has been following their ship since they set out from King’s Landing, its eyes the same startling grey colour of the hand’s. They set out from Tarth two days later and arrive on Bloodstone some four days after that. Aegon feels the old nerves and fear begin to return, though before they dismount and readied them for the carnage that would unfold; Aegon told his sons “Stay close to myself or Dunk, or failing that one of the Kingsguard.” Ser Quentyn Bracken and Ser Harrold Grandison had been tasked by Brynden with their protection, and Aegon intended that should it come it, they would be needed. The plank was lowered Aegon put on his helm and drew his sword. “See you on the other side.” He said to his sons and long time friend. And then he charged off the ship and the battle began.


	26. All Dead, All Dead

**King Brynden I Targaryen**

The sea was roaring in the background, the battle was in full flow. It had taken them longer than he would have liked to reach the Stepstones, ships had been lost and they had had to stop off at Tarth, but they were finally here, finally able to end the Blackfyre threat once and for all. Before battle had begun he had given his lords and their men strict instructions, kill Maelys Blackfyre and his sister, neither one was to be left alive. At this moment in time, as he hacked and slashed his way through row after row of the Golden Company, Brynden was confident he’d soon be facing up against that two headed monster.

The same two headed monster who had evaded capture when his father had invaded ten years ago, would not escape capture and death this time around. Aegon had asked him how he had known Blackfyre would be here, and well the truth was that he had dreamed it, had seen it in a vision, a similar vision to what Edwyle had had, and so they had planned the battle and their tactics accordingly. A man came rushing towards him wielding an axe Brynden ducked the swing and then thrust Blackfyre through the man’s exposed under arms and put his sword in deep, pulling out and then blocking another axe swing before quick as a flash burying Blackfyre deep into the bastard’s armour and chest.

When he pulled his sword out, it was covered in blood. The fight went on, he spurred his horse on, hacking and slashing. Men fell down before him their bodies torn with cuts and bruises a plenty, those that were not dead when they fell were soon killed by the time Brynden moved on, either because he had cut them down himself as they tried to rise or they were ridden down. Another axe wielding bastard came charging towards him on a black warhorse, the bastard swung his axe and Brynden just managed to swerve to the side and miss the swing. The man was soon cut down by Ser Oberyn Dayne of the Kingsguard, as he tried to rear around and go at Brynden once more. Brynden moved on spurring his horse on, hacking down men who came in his path.

 _Where is the bastard?_ Brynden thought, Maelys Blackfyre was the key to this, kill him and the whole skirmish would be done. The Golden Company always lost heart when its leaders were slain, and Brynden planned to do just that. The fight waged around him, he could hear the screams of the dying, men in their death throes, men yelling at one another, the clash of steel on steel. It all echoed through his helm, seemingly magnified because he was king, and these were his people dying. An arrow went whizzing past his head, and brought him out of his reverie. He swore loudly and bellowed for the archers to unleash hellfire. They were over the ridge, having been left for a moment like this.

Brynden brought his horse back toward the ridge Blackfyre still drawn, as the arrows came reigning down from above. They looked like a dragon’s fire, set alight as they were, they came falling down with great speed, and the screams of the men who were hit would haunt Brynden for many years to come, still it did the job, and soon enough there were fewer men for him to have to kill. “Over the bridge men. We must cross the bridge!” Brynden shouted, and spurred his horse on toward the Bridge of Blood, followed by Ser Brandon Stark and Ser Gerold Hightower.

More men came into his way, and they soon learnt what it meant to cross the path of a true dragon. Hacking and slashing as he went on, Blackfyre sung with each new conquest, each new drop of blood that was spilt and ended up in its cover. On and on, the men came not learning their lesson, men from the Golden Company, Blackfyre’s own lackeys, and men from different sellsword companies, the Second Sons and the Company of the Cat amongst them. They all came rushing towards Brynden and his men and they all ended up dead, cut to a million tiny little pieces.

The last man Brynden slays seems to be the last defender of the Bridge for when he falls none come to stop Brynden or his men from crossing, and as such he begins to feel the nerves flutter in his stomach, so close now. “Find me Maelys Blackfyre!” he bellows whether to his men or to the hawk that he knows is fluttering above him, like the shadow it was meant to be, he knows not all he knows is that this will only end when Blackfyre’s head adorns a spike.

The land over the bridge is strangely deserted, and Brynden feels his nerves begin to get to him, perhaps this is a trap, an elaborate ploy perhaps? Brandon Stark seems to share his concerns. “Where are they Your Grace? I thought they would be here?” Stark is a good knight, one of the best if not the best swordsman in the realm, but he is still a boy still despite being twenty and four.

“He will be here soon enough Bran, never worry. Blackfyres have more brawn then sense.” Ser Gerold replies.

Brynden snorts, it is true. Those Blackfyres he has met of the male variety often seemed to have more strength and skill at weaponry than actual sense. Well apart from the exception of Maegon Blackfyre, but that man was half mad, as well as being a genius. The sound of battle drifts over the bridge and Brynden draws his sword as do Ser Brandon and Ser Gerold. “Ser Gerold go and find out what has happened. I want to know where my men are.” Ser Gerold bows his head and trots off. Meanwhile, the rest of the men who came over the bridge with them pant and relax, though there is still some weariness amongst them, suspecting a trap. After what seems like a lifetime Ser Gerold appears, his face a grim mask, and Brynden briefly fears for the worst. “What has happened Ser?”

The knight is silent for a moment and then says. “Good news Your Grace. Maelys Blackfyre has been slain, and his generals killed or fled.”

There was silent for a long moment as the men let the words sink in and then a loud cheer went up, led by Ser Brandon, and the men joined cheering and banging their weapons off of their shields. Eventually, Brynden raised a hand and the men went quiet. “That is good news Ser. But I must ask how do you know? Who was the one to slay the monster?”

Ser Gerold, the White Bull as he is known breaks out into a smile then. “I saw the monster’s heads myself Your Grace. They adorn two spikes. Ser Barristan Selmy of Harvest Hall was the one to slay the monster, he cut a bloody path through the Golden Company before he slew the monster.”

At that there is more cheering, and Brynden nods. “Very well it is time we went to see this slayer of Blackfyres ourselves is it not men?” More cheering and then Brynden spurs his horse on, crossing the bridge and following Ser Gerold’s directions stops at the place where Ser Barristan is said to be. There is already a large crowd gathered round him cheering him, they fall silent when Brynden dismounts from his horse and walks towards them. “Which one of you is Ser Barristan?” he asks.

The crowd parts and there in the middle of them all stands a tall man with dark brown hair, and suddenly Brynden remembers where he has heard the name, Barristan Selmy was knighted by Aegon at a tourney some years ago. He is bold as brass when Brynden stands before him, he gets to one knee and says. “I am Your Grace.”

Brynden is silent for a long moment before he says. “You have done your king and the realm a great service Ser Barristan. We owe you a debt that I fear may never be repaid. Name what you wish and it shall be yours if it is within my power to grant it to you.”

Selmy is silent and then he says simply. “I simply wish to be of service to you Your Grace.”

Brynden nods and then declares loudly. “Let it be known from this day forth that Ser Barristan Selmy, truly has earnt his name the Bold. He is a hero of the realm; his name shall be celebrated across the realm from the wall to Dorne.” More cheers and Brynden helps the man stand up, before turning to Ser Gerold and asking him. “Where is Ser Oberyn?”

The White Bull is silent and before he can respond, Ser Barristan speaks then his voice heavy. “Your Grace, I must apologise, but before I could get to Maelys, he had already slain Ser Oberyn, the Sword of the Morning died preventing the man from crossing the bridge.”

The news hits Brynden hard, Ser Oberyn dead? That can’t be possible, the man seemed invincible, he had been a knight of the Kingsguard since the beginning of Brynden’s father- his uncle really- reign. The old man was supposed to outlive them all. Looking at Selmy’s face though he knows the words he speaks are the truth. He merely nods and then leaves Selmy to celebrate with the rest of the men; he mounts his horse and then says to Ser Gerold. “Go and find Aegon, and tell him to come to my tent we have much to discuss.”

Much later as night begins to settle over the Bloodstone Island, Brynden is sat in his tent looking over maps, when Ser Brandon Stark announces Aelix. Brynden tells him to enter, surprised. He greets his nephew, and then asks. “Aelix it is a relief to see you alive and well, but where are your father and older brother?”

Aelix’s face contorts with barely controlled grief, and Brynden feels his heart plummet. The worst is confirmed when Aelix says. “Father and Duncan are dead Your Grace. Father was slain by some Strickland bastard, and Duncan was slain fighting Maelys Blackfyre. It took me till very recently to find their bodies.”

The shock hits Brynden hard, so hard in fact that he has to sit down. He gestures for his nephew to sit down as well and then asks his voice choked. “Where was Ser Duncan the Tall when this was happening? Where were Ser Quentyn and Ser Harrold?”

Aelix sighs then and says. “Ser Quentyn was grievously wounded fighting off some Flowers bastard, Ser Duncan died defending him from the same bastard. Ser Harrold was slain as well.”

Brynden sighs then and says. “Very well, the Silent Sisters are here yes?” His nephew nods. “Good make sure they do everything correctly and then we shall burn Aegon and Duncan’s bodies so their ashes can be interred in Summerhall. Then we shall hold a meeting to see how things are going across the other islands.”

It takes them two weeks before everything is settled, by that point news has come from the other islands, victory has been achieved, the remenants of the Golden Company have either been executed or have fled, Brynden allowing them to flee knowing they will not cause havoc for his people ever again. The other casualties of the fighting include Lord Tyrek Baratheon dead of his wounds, as well as thousands of other men. The fighting has been costly but it has ended a very serious threat.

They return home to King’s Landing to a hero’s welcome with the small folk and the nobles lining the streets cheering and praising them all. The hawk that Edwyle had sent, that had pecked out various members of the Golden Company’s eyes out flies up ahead. The cheering continues, the dynasty is secure, and when Brynden sees his wife and children standing on the steps of the Red Keep, he spurs his horse onwards, leaps down from his horse and then embraces all of them, kissing Rowena square on the lips.

The celebratory atmosphere continues for well over a month, with a grand tourney being held, which is won by Ser Brandon Stark, and several feasts being held. The nobles and the small folk alike do not seem to be in any hurry to want to end the celebrations, and Brynden finds that he is willing to acquiesce to them on this matter. For sixty years the black dragons have tormented his family and his people, and now their line is at an end. They can celebrate all year if they want to.

Eventually though real life comes back into existence, and it starts with the interring of Aegon’s and Duncan’s ashes. Jaehaerys is now Prince of Summerhall, his son Aerys his heir, Aerys a smart lad, a capable administrator though there is a screw loose somewhere there, and Edwyle has warned Brynden that the boy will cause more trouble in the future. Aerys was wed to his sister Rhaella for a prophecy their son Rhaegar was born some three days after the war was ended. Still there is some unease that Brynden feels about that whole situation, but now is not the time to think about that.

Ser Barristan Selmy and Brynden’s own son Prince Aenar are raised to the Kingsguard replacing the dead Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Harrold Grandison. Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull is named as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Brynden also names his nephew Prince Aelix Targaryen as the new master of laws and names Mantarys Velaryon as the new master of ships.

The first council session of the New Year, begins with reports from the master of coin Lord Allem Dayne. “Your Grace, as you know the war effort was quite expensive. But as the pretender did not manage to get onto the mainland our gold reserves were maintained and we shall be able to pay for the war.” Brynden nods and the Dayne goes on. “Furthermore, the lodgers at the Royal Bank have informed me that one Lord Baelish wishes to put in a request for a loan.”

Brynden nods and then says. “Very well, then. Who is this Lord Baelish, and will he have the funds to repay the loan back?”

Dayne consults his papers and then says. “Baelish owns lands on the Fingers, some small pellets of sheep shit Your Grace. He fought on the Stepstones alongside Lords Arryn and Stark, he also met Lord Tully, and wishes to refurnish his holdings. He says with trade with the Vale he should be able to pay the loan off in roughly fifteen years.”

Brynden is silent and then says. “Very well, but I want him told that if he fails to stay true to the repayment his lands will be confiscated.” Dayne nods. “Now what more is there that needs discussion?”

Maron Martell speaks then. “My sources report that Aerion Targaryen’s legitimate children have begun speaking with the captain of the Golden Company. They wish to expand their influence beyond Pentos, and want the rest of Essos.”

“They are welcome to it. What is Essos but a land full of greedy money makers and savages? They can keep Essos, so long as they do not turn their eyes west, we need not fear them.” Brynden says. Martell nods. With that the council meeting comes to an end. Brynden spends the next few days at court dealing with various things, and with his family enjoying the peace and quiet that peace time has afforded him. Eventually he gets round to speaking with his former squire, Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard, known as the White Wolf, a fierce fighter and a loyal man, honest and true. Brynden calls him into his solar one day when the sun is beating down on them; he needs information about Rickard Stark and who better to tell him than his own brother.

Stark is of course reluctant to truly speak about his brother behind his back but he still does so, it helps Brynden supposes that the boy’s father is in the room as well. “Rickard is a good man Your Grace. He is loyal and true, if a bit grim and solemn. He will serve you well as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Brynden nods and then looking towards Edwyle asks his former squire. “Will Rickard answer a call to arms to defend the wall and the realm should the time come?”

Brynden sees his former shift uncomfortably, before he replies. “Yes Your Grace. I know Rickard will do all in his power to ensure that the Wall and the north are securely defended from all possible threats.”

Brynden nods and then says. “Thank you Brandon, you may go.” Once his former squire has left, Brynden turns to his friend and goodbrother and says. “What did you make of that then Ed?”

Edwyle smiles slightly and says. “Brandon is a good child. He spoke honestly and truly. Rickard will make sure that when the time is right the north shall be ready for what is to come. Though neither of them knows the true severity of what is going to hit them.”

Brynden laughs then. “Ah what a pair we make eh Ed? The peace we have worked so hard for is finally here, and we sit worrying about something that will happen in many, many years when we are both dead and buried in the ground. Still, I suppose we must keep an eye on Pentos as well, Maron has told me of the cheesemonger’s interest in Aerion’s children. And of course Aerys will have to be kept under constant watch as well. That damnable prophecy will be the death of us.”


	27. A Lion Still Has Claws

**Ser Tywin Lannister**

The Eyrie was a comfortable and serene place, somewhere where people were often languid in their movements and actions, where life was taken slowly and enjoyed one day at a time. It was in complete contrast to Casterly Rock, where Tywin remembered during his childhood, there had always been something happening, some frantic activity, some lord or knight being feasted and entertained. He had found that he preferred the quietness and peace that the Eyrie offered him, it allowed him time to think, to reflect on life and what he was going to do when he came into his inheritance.

At least that had been the case before the Prince had arrived. Prince Aegyl Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, was a ball of hyper activity, constantly on the move and constantly asking questions. There were times when Tywin had found himself so frustrated by the lad that he had had to resist the urge to shout at him to calm down and stop moving so frantically. Though the prince was some years younger to him, and he viewed him as a younger brother, one did not yell at a member of the royal family, no there were more subtle methods with which to placate the lad. Tywin had found that as his friend had gone from childhood into those years in between being a child and an adult, he had become calmer and more relaxed, especially when they were in the training yard sparring.

Though Tywin was roughly six years older than the prince, Aegyl was already a very good swordsman, almost as good as Tywin himself, and that was something that Tywin found he was oddly proud of. Tywin knew most people thought him to be too serious and dour, and for the most part he was, he had grown up in the Rock listening to people mock his father and his family, and when he had come to the Eyrie there had been none of the fear or respect in any of the other boys’ faces or actions that he had been expecting. No he had to earn that, through his knowledge in lessons and out on the training yard, he had been a ward of Lord Jon Arryn since he had turned ten, he was nineteen now, he had more than earnt his stripes. Around the prince though, Tywin felt alive, and the need to be less serious, though Aegyl was only fourteen he had an infectious air about him, something that always made Tywin feel happy, and able to laugh, though not smile never smile.

Tywin’s foster father, Jon Arryn was a good man, a proud man, a smart man, a man of honour, someone who had spent a great deal of time teaching Tywin and Aegyl the ways of ruling, and how it was important that your bannermen respected you, for without respect there would be no obedience. When he saw how deferential, men such as Lord Albar Royce could be towards the Falcon Lord, he could not help but think that perhaps his father could take a leaf or two out of Jon Arryn’s book. His father, the mere thought of Tytos Lannister was enough to make Tywin scowl. His father was a weakling, a pushover, a disgrace to the Lannister name. Tywin knew from the letters his mother and then his brother Kevan had sent him, that there were debts owed to the Rock from various houses that had still to be paid, and Tytos Lannister was not chasing them up, it had fallen to Tywin’s mother to do that job, and that had failed, for no lord listened to a woman, not even a woman as powerful and as strong as Myrcella Lannister.

His mother was dead now though, dead in her sleep of a fever. His father had taken up with a whore, more shame on the Lannister name. The woman wore Tywin’s mother’s jewellery and acted as if she was the lady of the castle, when she was nothing more than an up jumped commoner. Tywin had brought this issue up with his father on his last visit and his father had merely chuckled uneasily and simply told him that when he met a woman he loved he would know why his father acted as such. Not the answer Tywin wanted to hear, nor the truth of the matter he suspected, his father was a weakling and a craven and was being manipulated by this woman, yet there was no way to make him see reason.

The Rock had been in a state of disarray when he had returned from the Eyrie some three weeks ago. The servants knew not what was expected of them, and the daily issues that his mother had once seen to were left undone and unfinished, the whore preferring to lord it over Tywin’s siblings and his people. He had been deeply embarrassed about the state the Rock had been in, for Aegyl had come back with him, wanting to see more of the place Tywin called home. This was not the impression he had wanted to give his friend, but Aegyl in that easy going manner of his simply laughed and said. “Well, not all of us can be as dour and as perfect as you Ty.” Still the images and the embarrassment rankled him deeply.

Joanna had come to visit as well, some days ago, and Tywin had spent time introducing his cousin to his friend. The two got on a like a house on fire, and Tywin was happy about that, for the longest time he could remember, he and Joanna had always been friends had always been close, and perhaps something more to one another. That was why when he had overheard his father talking with Joanna’s father about whom to betroth her to, he had immediately gone up and asked for her hand in marriage, he knew he was very fond of her, perhaps even loved her, perhaps that was why the thought of her being in another man’s arms hurt so painfully for him. He would never have admitted that though, not even to Aegyl, still Joanna’s father had jumped at the chance of having his daughter wed the heir to the Rock and as such the betrothal had gone through. They would wed when Joanna was eighteen, which would be in a year, no more.

“I never thought I’d see you smile Ty.” Tywin heard his friend joke.

He looked up and saw Aegyl and Joanna both standing in the doorway looking at him, he thought the urge to blush and merely replied. “Come now Your Grace, you know that I can smile. But I thought Joanna was showing you the gardens, what are you both doing here so early?”

At that Tywin saw Joanna’s face fall, and Aegyl’s face set into a grim line. “Your father’s mistress asked me to leave, saying she wished to speak with the Prince alone.” Joanna says.

Tywin bristles and Aegyl says. “I told her that I had some business with you that I needed sorting, and that I would speak with her later. She did not seem most happy, but who cares about the wants of a whore?”

“She should not be here; my father had told me that she would be leaving with him when he went to Tarbeck. I will need to speak with her, and remind her where she comes from.” Tywin said coldly.

Joanna as always was the voice of reason. “Now, now Tywin my love, you cannot do that. For your father will complain loudly and then there will be even more embarrassment heaped on the Lannister name, and your future bannermen will laugh at you and us.”

Tywin sighed then and asked. “What would you have me do then Joanna? That woman wears my mother’s jewellery and walks around as if she was born a noble lady, not a whore in some back alley. She walks around bossing me and my siblings, and stealing from our vaults. Why should I not punish her for her insolence?”

Joanna sighs then, and as if she is speaking to a child and not her betrothed says. “Because whilst you are the heir to the Rock, you are not its lord yet, and though I am sure Prince Aegyl would be more than willing to support you in whatever punishment you have planned for the woman, your father is Lord of the Rock for now, and so the woman must stay and we must put up with her.”

Tywin sighed and was about to reply, when there was a knock on the door and Kevan walked in. His younger brother, was a broad shouldered man, who with Tywin away at the Eyrie for most of the time, had become the unofficial second in command of the running of the Rock, he did not seem to enjoy the responsibility and seemed relieved when Tywin had come back and taken over. “Tywin, Joanna, my prince.” Kevan said the three of them nodded at him and then his brother looked straight at him and said. “Father wishes to see you in his solar.”

Tywin sighed and got up, to follow his brother before asking. “Does the prince need to come as well?”

Kevan seemingly hesitated for a moment, before saying. “No offence my prince, but my father has asked that this remain a purely family matter.”

Aegyl though had that stubborn set to his jaw and said. “If it involves the realm then I must come, and we are family anyway are we not?”

Tywin looked at his brother and smiled wryly. He kissed Joanna on the cheek before following his brother to their father’s solar, Aegyl walking next to him. When they entered the solar, Tywin felt his anger begin to grown once more, the whore was present. Tywin spoke, his voice cold. “Father you asked for me and here I am. But I thought this was purely a family matter?”

Tytos Lannister looked up from the paper in his hands, and said his voice wavering. “Tywin, Miranda is as much a part of our family as Aegyl is. She deserves to know what is happening as lady of the castle.”

Tywin bit back the retort that was on his lips and merely nodded. He sat down as did Aegyl, Kevan and the whore. Once they were all seated he asked. “What is it that needs discussing father? Has word come from Genna?”

His father shook his head and said. “There has been a letter from Castamere.”

Tywin was silent for a moment and then asked. “Is that why you are not riding there now? This letter? What does it say?”

His father closed his eyes and then said. “Lord Loren Reyne writes that his men have seen men streaming towards the Crag in great number. More men than the Crag itself should be able to call. He fears that Lord Westerling means to make a bid for Pendric Hills, and requests our aid.”

Tywin looks at his father for a long moment before saying. “Pendric Hills by rights belongs to no man in the Westerlands, its gold and mines belong to the Rock. Lord Reyne should not be asking us for help unless it is to defend the Hills from the Westerlings. Why have you not sent men out already to scour the area?”

The whore thought to lecture him. “That is no way to speak to your father boy. Show some respect, Tytos has written to Lord Reyne and asked him call his levies, as well as writing to the Crag to ask what Westerling means to do, haven’t you my lord?”

Tywin could see from his father’s expression that he had done no such thing, and yet he nodded and said. “Aye my love I have. But no, the reason I asked you here was to discuss some things about the wedding.”

Tywin bristled then. “You wish to speak of a wedding that will not happen for another year, whilst your bannermen plot rebellion and wish to stir trouble? Have you taken leave of your senses father?”

“Now see here boy,” his father began.

Tywin interrupted him then his anger fuelling his words. “Lord Westerling has been eyeing the Pendric Hills for some time father. You know that, you, you said you needed to do something about it. And now he is mustering men and you will do nothing? Have you lost your spine? Did it die with mother, or when you began fucking this whore?”

His father was spluttering, and the whore was fuming. It was Aegyl who spoke next to break the anger fuelled silence. “My lord, if I may. Whilst we are all looking forward to Ty’s wedding, this issue with the Westerlings is of much greater importance. A wedding cannot be held unless the Westerlands are safe and secure, and if the information that we have heard today and on other days is any indication, such a wedding might not be possible for some time. We all know that the Westerlings and the Kennings of Kayce are allied through marriage; the Lannisters of Lannisport have been grumbling for so long that their grumblings have reached my grandfather at court. Surely that must be a more pressing issue than a wedding that will happen in a year?”

Aegyl was usually a joker and hardly took anything seriously, apart from when he did and then he sounded like the Conciliator come again. Tywin’s father was silent, his face red with shame and embarrassment. There was a long silence and then he eventually spoke. “I have not been completely honest with you Tywin, this letter came some days past, and has been brewing since then. Lord Loren wrote to me and his letter came this morning, the Baneforts of Banefort and the Westerlings have mobilised themselves and are marching in full force for the Pendric Hills. He has asked for leave to mobilise his own men and block them off.”

Tywin felt the anger began to bloom inside of him now, unleashing itself completely. His voice was choked with anger when he spoke next. “And what of our cousins in Lannisport what have they been doing father?”

His father spoke so quietly, Tywin had to lean in to hear him. “They have been gathering their levies and hiring sellswords from across the narrow sea. For a march on the Rock itself.”

Tywin gives into his anger then and begins cursing and shouting, and the next few weeks pass by in a large blur. News comes from the Hills; a battle was fought there between the combined forces of Reynes and the Marbrands against the Baneforts and the Vikarys. A fierce battle which ended with the death of Lord Osgood Banefort, slain by Loren Reyne. The Westerlings and the Kennings had not move from the Crag, waiting for reinforcements from Fair Isle no doubt, the Lannisters of Lannisport, the treacherous kin had marched from their castle and instead of heading for the Rock they marched south putting Tarbeck Hall to the sword, and capturing Crakehall.

Other minor skirmishes occur in the Westerlands, with some of the minor houses siding with the rebels and others remaining true. A massacre occurs on Silver Hill where, half of House Brax is wiped out in a single day, in a bloody battle with the rebels House Serrett. Finally Tywin’s patience is tried, and when he receives word that the Westerlings and the Farmans are marching from the Crag, he calls his men those from the Rock and those from Castamere, Golden Tooth and from Sarsfield and readies himself for battle.

Tywin Lannister has fought in melees and against the mountain clans but his first actual battle is a bloody thing. The rebels and the forces of the Rock meet at Oxcross, and Tywin keeps one eye on his friend the Prince who had insisted on coming despite there only being one knight of the Kingsguard there to protect him. Tywin allows his anger to control him then, hacking and slashing his way through the enemy, bringing down any man who is fool enough to come into his path. His slays Lord Kenning of Kayce with a single thrust at the man’s neck. His kills Ser Bronn Hill the bastard of Banefort with a thrust, and then a swing off the neck. Later he will hear of how Aegyl killed Ser Morris Farman a promising knight with a swift thrust and a swing, he will see the destruction that battle can cause, and all he will feel is grim satisfaction.

The battle of Oxcross ends with the rebel forces scattered and Lord Farman captured. His men are dead as are all of his sons. The man is the same age as Tywin’s own father, but has more sense than Tytos Lannister has ever had, he bends the knee and Tywin raises him up and accepts him into his war council. Though they have won a victory at Oxcross and removed the threat of the Westerlings (all are dead) and House Banefort is near extinguished, Tywin’s traitorous cousins of Lannisport continue to go around sacking the villages and towns of the southern Westerlands. Godfrey Lannister, the Head of the Lannisport branch, an experienced warrior, and an ambitious man.

There is much discussion after the battle about what to do now, head back to the Rock or completely destroy any remaining allies the Lannisport Lannisters might have. Tywin decides on another course. “We head for Lannisport, and we kill Godfrey’s family. We give him reason to come back from his pillaging, and then we destroy him and everything he holds dear.” Despite being unsure whether such a plan could work on someone as experienced as Godfrey Lannister, Tywin is proven correct, and once more learns why emotion can be a crippling thing and a benefit to your enemies. The Lannisport army and their sellswords arrives in Lannisport some two days after Tywin and his army does. Tywin has already had his cousin’s castle put to the sword, now its personal.


	28. Lions. Red, Gold and Green

**Ser Loren Reyne**

Lannisport was big, it was big and intimidating. The seat of the rebels was very impressive, the city below it glimmered and hummed with activity. Or atleast it normally did, the people of Lannisport where all either in their homes with their doors boarded up and their possessions hidden out of sight, or they were with the rebel army. Godfrey Lannister, the head of Lannisters of Lannisport had gotten ambitious, spurred on by the weakness of Tytos Lannister, his cousin, he had decided that he wanted to become Lord of the Rock, and as such had allied with the Baneforts, the Westerlings and the Farmans. The Baneforts had been put to the sword as had the Westerlings, well apart from Lord Westerling’s young daughter; the Farmans had surrendered and were now part of the army that Tywin Lannister had assembled.

The war had been going for some four moons, with the Westerlands becoming a smoking ruin, the like of which had not been seen since the first Blackfyre rebellion. The Blackfyres were gone now, but they had given second sons and angered cousins the idea that rebellion could be done and was acceptable. Loren had slain many good men and many friends on the fields of the Pendric Hills and elsewhere fighting this damned rebellion. He took no pleasure in it, but it needed to be done, he knew that rebels needed to be shown their place. Lord Godfrey Lannister deserved to be flayed for what he had done to Tarbeck Hall.

The news of his aunt and his cousins’ fate had reached him as he had been camped at Oxcross. Godfrey Lannister had put the castle to sword, and had raped his aunt and made his cousins watch. He’d then hung them one by one, before burning the castle. Loren had been deeply angered by that, so much so that it had taken both Tygett and Lancel to stop him from riding on his horse and charging for Tarbeck Hall straight away. Instead he had sat and brooded through the war councils, listening as the lords debated what their next move should be, all the while thinking that their next move should be to burn Lannisport to the ground.

Of course Tywin Lannister, the man leading the Lannister forces had decided to ignore everyone else’s advice and had decreed that they would march on Lannisport and draw Godfrey Lannister to his home where they would fight him and end this war. The other lords had begun clamouring like a group of old hens, saying how such a move was rash and dangerous and would cost them more men than it would gain them. Loren had felt his anger grow, and had been about to voice his own thoughts on the matter when Tywin Lannister had simply said that they would gain nothing by waiting at Oxcross and that Lannisport belonged to the Rock not some upstart cousin.

And so they had marched. The city itself had opened its gates to their army, the Lord Commander of the City Watch was Tywin’s cousin and was loyal to the man not his liege lord, and so the city was taken peacefully. The castle of Lannisport however was another matter. A fierce resistance was offered by the captain of the guards, who it seemed had more honour than sense. Loren had bloodied his sword many a time during the battle for the castle, and had ended up killing the captain of guards himself, a sword thrust through the stomach doing the job.

After that, Loren saw for the first time just how ruthless Tywin Lannister was, and how different he was from his father. Instead of keeping Godfrey’s remaining family members as hostages to use against him, Tywin Lannister ordered their execution, all of them, women, children and old men all were put to the sword, and their heads not decorated the walls of Lannisport castle. All the while Loren felt something akin to bile rising in his stomach, whilst Tywin Lannister merely stood there watching it all unfold with a blank expression on his face.

A raven was then sent across the Westerlands, declaring the end of House Lannister of Lannisport the Green lions as they were known. That drew Godfrey Lannister from his burning of the Westerlands, and now his army was camped outside the walls of the city, waiting for a moment to strike and enter. The anticipation of the battle was beginning to get to Loren, he wanted to fight and he wanted to kill, and he wanted it over and done with now. None of this waiting malarkey, the enemy was outside their walls not inside, and a siege was always likely, the green lion had some 20,000 men with him, whilst they had only 15,000 men.

All of this had been brought up at the war council the day before and Loren had argued strongly for simply opening the gates and fighting the rebel army in the streets. There had been some agreement from the younger lords present, the older ones had urged caution once more, arguing that it would be better to frustrate the rebels and goad them into a wrong move rather than doing one themselves. Tywin, the man was a Lannister and there was enmity between their two houses that ran deeper than either of them truly knew, still he was a very shrewd man and a very capable warrior. He had remained silent for a long time before he had eventually said in that soft voice of his that they would fire catapults at the men and then only then would they open the gates.

That was what he had been waiting for all this time, as the horns were sounded, signalling the ending of the catapult rampage and the opening of the gates, Loren unsheathed Red Rain from its scabbard, and readied himself for the battle that would soon be coming. His lion’s head helm was already atop his head, and through it he could see Ser Tywin Lannister, and Prince Aegyl mounted and armoured, with the Prince was Ser Lucas Goodbrook of the Kingsguard. They stood still for a long moment and then the Prince put a war horn to his lips and blew it, and Loren raised his sword high into the air and spurred his horse on to meet the oncoming horde of green lion soldiers.

The battle itself passes by in a rather large blur for Loren, as all future battles will. One minute he is riding so fast that everything zooms by, the next it seems as if the world has slowed down and he is hacking and slashing his way through men, sellswords and rebels a like as if they are nothing more than toys. Cutting them down and whetting Red Rain’s appetite, he hacks a man’s head off, slashes a man’s throat, and then lops a man’s arm off before pivoting and avoiding another man’s swing, before killing the same man.

On and on it goes, hacking and slashing. Ducking and dodging, Red Rain, earns its name that day, cutting through men and horses alike, adding blood to the ground of Lannisport. The noise of men fighting, screaming and dying passes him by, he concentrates on fighting, hacking and slashing. Eventually he cuts down his last man, and the rest seemed to have thrown their swords down in surrender. Later he will learn it is because the man he killed was Godfrey Lannister, and the sellswords he had hired had given up hope at the sight of the Red Lion killing the Green.

The war of the lions ends with the death of Godfrey Lannister, and with him ends House Lannister of Lannisport, otherwise known as the Green Lions. Lannisport is in ruin, the city heavily damaged during the fighting, the Westerlands themselves are a smoking ruin, burnt fields and crops, and there are more dead houses now than there were during the most depressing of times during King Aerys rule. It is a strange feeling for Loren, the aftermath of war, he had fought in three wars before this, two as a squire and one as a knight of his own, and it is always the same feeling, he feels hollow and empty, and questions the purpose of fighting.

The others do not, a feast is held at Casterly Rock to celebrate the end of the war, though Loren notices that the man responsible for its successful conclusion is not present. He, himself leaves early the day after the feast whilst everyone else is still asleep or struggling with the effects of the night before. He rides with some ten men for Tarbeck Hall. When he sees his mother’s home, he withholds a cry; the place is a veritable ruin and will take time to be rebuilt. He makes a note of how much needs done, and decides there and then to keep the gold aside for such things.

He returns home and is greeted by his wife Anna and their children, Edwyle, Myriah, Brynden and Gerold. Once he has been updated on all that has happened in Castamere since he was last there, he sits in his solar with his wife. Anna was radiant, just as she had been on the day of their wedding, she spoke in a similar manner to her father, direct and to the point, some found it threatening, he found it attractive and appealing. “The Septa was having a go at Myriah once again today, for praying in the Godswood and dirtying her dress. I told the woman that the dress was not the important matter, and that it was good that our daughter was staying true to her roots. The woman looked at me as if I had grown a second head.”

Loren laughed then, and stroked his wife’s hair. “I am sure she did my love. You know, perhaps you are coming on a bit too strong. Myriah will one day wed a lord who might keep to the seven as you did, and it is best that she knows both faiths not just one or the other.”

His wife snorted. “As if you truly care about that Loren. You’ve not been in the Sept since the day my father knighted you. We both agreed that you could teach the boys about knighthood and all that, and I would teach our daughter the ways of the Old Gods. I still do not understand why you had to bring septa in.”

Loren laughs once again. “Because it is necessary that our children know both of their parents faiths. We cannot have them be ignorant of one or the other, both are key to their heritage.”

His wife sighs then and says. “False gods the Seven are. With so many rules about what you can and can’t do. I saw for myself the hypocrisy of the seven in King’s Landing. I do not want our children to suffer such a thing, better that they learn the simplicity of the Old Gods.”

Loren exhales in frustration, this argument of theirs is an old one, one that has been raging ever since the day they found out Anna was pregnant with Edwyle, and that had been some eleven years ago now. He knows his wife will never change her views on the matter, and he has no wish to argue with her about it, after having just returned home. Instead he says. “So has there been any word from your father in my absence? Has he said when he means to come and visit?”

As if any time that her father is brought up Anna smiles and looses whatever concern was eating at her. “Yes,” she says her head nodding against his chest. “He says that he and the king are coming within the moon’s turn to see us and the children, as well as to visit the Rock and the Westerlands. To show the people that King’s Landing is sympathetic to their plight.”

“How long will they be staying here my love? Did your father say?” Loren asks, if the King is coming then that will mean a large party will be travelling with him, and Loren is not sure whether they have enough food and other supplies for such a large party.

Anna is silent for a moment before she replies. “A week no longer I believe. Father understands that our supplies will be low because of the war. But he wishes to see us and the children.”

Loren nods and then kisses his wife on the top of her head. Once their reunion is done, he goes about trying to settle back into a normal life, hearing the grievances of his people, planning for the royal visit, training in the yard with the men and his own sons, teaching them what it means to be a lord. He also spends sometime overseeing the rebuilding of Tarbeck Hall, Godfrey Lannister the bastard burnt the castle quite badly, and it will take time for it to be rebuilt to its former glory. Time and gold, both of which Loren thankfully has, not in abundance but enough to manage respectably.

The royal party arrives at the end of the month, the King, four knights of the Kingsguard, his son Prince Maekar and his daughter Prince Jaehara, as well as the hand of the king and Loren’s goodfather Lord Edwyle Stark and some ninety other retainers, a modest party in comparison to what Loren thought would arrive. When he brings this up with his former mentor, Edwyle merely smiles slightly and says. “His Grace knows the effects that war can have on the people; he will not have you over exerted in seeing to his comfort or that of his friends and retainers.”

There is some more idle conversation, about this and that lord or squire, some talk about the rebellion, and what has happened to the rebel houses. The Green Lions are all dead as are House Banefort, the Farmans have given up a hostage and half their gold to the Rock, and the Kennings of Kayce are all but gone. There is other conversation as well, about the summer and how long it will last, some say another three years, other say forever. Others say that winter will soon be upon them. At that, both the King and Lord Stark get a strange look on their faces that Loren cannot quite understand, but he is used to such things occurring to not bother thinking to long about it.

Eventually talk turns to King’s Landing, and Loren finds himself asking about the man who replaced him as commander of the gold cloaks, Ser Malcolm Ryger. Edwyle talks quietly as has always been his way. “Ryger is a good man, an honourable one who is capable. But he is not you Loren. The men are beginning to grow lax in their training and despite numerous reminders from both myself and the king; they do nothing to change that. The King believes that Ryger will need to be replaced and someone with more strength of mind will need be brought in.”

Loren nods and then says. “In that case I would suggest Ser Bronn Stokeworth. The man is strong, smart and will not tolerate any nonsense from any of his underlings.”

Edwyle nods, and then the king speak. “Ser Loren, you fought alongside my grandson at Lannisport did you not?” Loren nods his head. “Well then, was he safe during the fight?”

“Yes Your Grace. Prince Aegyl was very safe, Ser Lucas did not let him out of his sight for a moment, and the prince fought very well if I may say so myself.”

The feast goes on for a few more hours and then eventually it ends. Loren retires to his chambers, reading through some of the reports that have come from his own bannermen and other whisperings that Maester Gorrick had thought he should know about. The news that Tytos Lannister’s mistress might be with child, is something that deeply interests Loren and he begins to wonder if he could use this to his advantage. 


	29. Lion Cub

**Ser Tywin Lannister**

Four years had passed since the ending of what the singers were calling the War of the Lions, where House Lannister of Lannisport, otherwise known as the green lions had rebelled against their overlords House Lannister of Casterly Rock. With them they had brought House Westerling of the Crag, House Kayce of Kenning, House Banefort and a score of lesser houses into their crime. The war had waged for some four or five moons and had wrought destruction across the Westerlands, the like of which had not been seen since the first Blackfyre Rebellion. Tywin Lannister, eldest son and heir of the Lord of the Rock Tytos Lannister had been depending on whom you asked taken on the leadership or had been tasked with leading the force that would crush the rebels. There had been three main battles, at the Pendric Hills, Oxcross and then within the walls of Lannisport itself, and at the end the Green Lions, House Banefort and House Kayce were no more, either their members had been killed in battle or had been put to the sword when Tywin Lannister had come knocking on their doors.

Only one person remained of House Westerling, the rebel lord’s granddaughter Sylvia Westerling a girl of eleven, she had been betrothed to Tywin’s youngest brother Gerion, and they were to be wed when both came of age in a year’s time. House Farman had sided with the rebels as well, but after Oxcross its lord had surrendered and in order to avoid seeing his house completely wiped out had paid half of his gold to Casterly Rock in compensation and had promised to send his first born daughter to the Rock as a ward, or hostage. The rebellion had ended and House Lannister of the Rock was secure in its hold over the Westerlands, but there was still much that needed to be done to make sure that another future rebellion never happened.

As such, it had taken some two years of hard work and a lot of gold and labour before the Westerlands had been repaired to the a habitable and acceptable level. It would take another few years before they reached the level of prosperity that they had had before the rebellion, Tywin knew, though not too long, for trade was booming once again. It filled him with a sort of pride, knowing that he had played a key role in making sure the Westerlands remained safe and prosperous as well as making sure that his family remained the unquestioned rulers of the Westerlands as they had since the Age of Heroes.

Other things had happened as well after the rebellion. Lannisport was without a lord, and whilst some of his father’s bannermen urged Tytos Lannister to simply snap up the land and make it part of the Rock as it had once been before the dragons came, there were risks to doing that as well. And so Tytos Lannister in a rare moment of smart thinking had decided to ask the king to grant the Lordship of Lannisport to Tywin’s third brother Tygett, Tygett had proven himself a mighty warrior during the rebellion and a very capable commander, and as such Tywin thought the reward was well deserved and perhaps would go a ways to calming his brother’s ferocious anger. King Brynden had agreed to the nomination as well as that of his brother Gerion being named Lord of the Crag, and so two cadet branches had arisen of the main line in the Westerlands. Tygett had also been wed to Princess Jaehara the King’s youngest child, in a grand wedding in the Rock, that had seen people from the Westerlands and the north come in attendance.

There had also been the matter of his friend and the Prince of Dragonstone’s knighthood. After the rebellion, which Aegyl had proven himself a more than capable warrior in he had returned to the Eyrie where his friend had continued his tutelage under Jon Arryn, Tywin kept in contact with his friend and so it was through him that he learnt of the tourney being held at the Eyrie to celebrate the birth of one Elbert Arryn. Tywin attended the tourney at the invitation of his old mentor and it was there that his friend after winning the tourney was knighted by their mentor.  Aegyl had worn black as night armour during the jousting and the ceremony afterwards and had shone like the sun, it was only right he was a dragon after all.

Tywin’s contact with his friend which had been somewhat muted after the ending of the rebellion was renewed once more when a raven came from King’s Landing, bearing the king’s own seal, inviting Tywin and his family to the capital for Aegyl’s wedding. His friend had wed Alyssa Greyjoy daughter of Lord Quellon Greyjoy, and the elder sister of the current Lord Balon Greyjoy on the fourth day of the fifth moon of 264 A.L., in the Great Sept of Baelor, the streets had been teeming with people come to see their prince wed. His friend and his friend’s wife had seemed like some sort of divine couple as they had walked from the doors of Baelor. Tywin could still feel the headaches he had had after his friend’s wedding feast.

His friend was usually a quiet person when around others and not one for exuberant behaviour, but with the Ironborn being present in the capital for the wedding, things were bound to be interesting, and by gods they had been. There had been ribald songs, drinking, and much jesting and entertainment, and this too before the main course had even been served! Once the royal couple had been sent off for their bedding, the festivities had continued. Not one for over indulgence normally, Tywin found himself drinking more and more with each passing hour during the celebrations that went on well into the early hours of the morning, at one point Tywin had found himself speaking with the bride’s brother Victarion Greyjoy, having an in depth conversation about something or the other, that he struggled to remember.

Needless to say his head had hurt like hell the next day, and he had had to make the trip back to the Rock straight after the wedding, not because he had wanted to but because his father had written to him requesting his presence. Tytos Lannister’s whore of a mistress had been pregnant twice in the space of two years and had miscarried the first child, the second one, had been born deformed and had died soon after. His father though had been well into his cups when Tywin had arrived at the Rock to see him, and so at first had thought his father was not being serious when he had informed him that his wedding to Joanna would be taking place in two night’s time.

It turned out Tytos Lannister had been deadly serious and so Tywin Lannister had wed Joanna Lannister, in the sept of the Rock and so far their marriage had been a happy one, and dare he say it a loving one. There was no one Tywin trusted or cared about more, he had found. Joanna was his everything, he did not know what he would do without her, he loved her so much it scared him, he who could not afford to have anything which his enemies could use against him, had fallen very, very badly for his wife and the whole world seemed to know it.

Still, for the good ideas Tytos Lannister had there were always a few bad ones, his father’s health was worsening, and so it had fallen to Tywin to manage the day to day affairs of running the castle and the Westerlands, and that included dealing with his father’s messes. “Lord Marbrand, you say that my father promised you another loan to pay for some restructuring on your castle, and yet these papers here do not point to anything of the sort being agreed. Now tell me, is what you say true or are you trying to swindle money from your liege lord?”

Lord Marbrand was stout man who had once been a good soldier, now he was simply a nervous wreck. “No my lord, I do not mean to cheat Lord Tytos out of anything. It was  agreed upon by the both of us some four weeks ago, whilst you were still in King’s Landing my lord.”

Tywin is beginning to have a bad feeling about where this conversation is going. “Was it my father who was seated in attendance Lord Marbrand? Or was it maester Geribald?”

Lord Marbrand is silent for a moment before he speaks his voice soft. “No my lord it was not your father, nor was it maester Geribald. It was Lady Sharon.”

Tywin feels the anger build up inside of him, his father’s whore acting as the ruling lady of the Rock? No such a thing will not stand, and yet he cannot deny his bannerman something that has been sealed in the name of his father and lord. “May I see the paper with which the agreement was made?” Tywin asks, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Lord Marbrand nods, and hands Tywin the document, he looks at the seal and sees that it does indeed bear his father’s seal, the golden lion of the Rock. He breaks the seal and reads the document, feeling his anger rise as he reads further down the page, and then he gets to the bottom and sees his father’s signature on the page, writ in his father’s own hand, and he feels his stomach drop. He looks up at Lord Marbrand who is looking at him intently, and sighs. “Very well my lord, Maester Geribald, see to it that Lord Marbrand leaves here with the amount of gold that is mentioned in this letter. We shall want the repayment in five moons time.”

Lord Marbrand nods and then leaves the hall, and Maester Geribald calls and end to the attendance of the court for the time being. Tywin wants to hit something as he steps down from the high seat in the great hall where countless Lannisters have sat before him, before his thoughts can turn dark though, Joanna is there, glowing and shining her arm links with his and they are walking back to their shared rooms. “You did well there, dealing with Lord Marbrand Ty.” Joanna says, and Tywin feels himself thrum with pride. “What was written in the letter was it quite bad?”

Tywin feels the anger rise up in him once more. Joanna he is sure can feel him stiffen but she says nothing waiting in silence before he speaks. “We, or more like my father has agreed to give Lord Marbrand some 200 dragons in order to help him pay for more bricks and mortar and men for rebuilding his castle.”

Tywin hears Joanna’s sharp intake of breath, before she says. “200 dragons?! But does Lord Marbrand already have a loan of some 300 dragons already from the Rock that he is yet to repay? How could you allow this loan to continue to stand Ty?”

“Because my father was the one who agreed to the damnable loan Joanna. I cannot overrule my father, I am the heir not the lord. Not yet anyway. Besides Marbrand will pay the loan back, both of them, otherwise he will face the same fate as Farman.” Tywin says an edge to his voice.

Joanna rubs a soothing hand across his arm, and says. “Well then, we shall have to make sure that he gets the message loud and clear. But why would that whore sit in for your father instead of Maester Geribald or even Kevan?”

Tywin sighs once more. “Because Maester Geribald is a weakling and will bow to whatever my father says even if it is bad advice he sprouts. And Kevan was away at the Crag at the time that Lord Marbrand came. No I shall need to speak with my father about this, and more. That woman is getting ideas far above her station.”

Joanna nods, and then opens the door to their rooms, but before Tywin can remove a piece of clothing, his wife pushes him into the chair by the desk and straddles him. “That can all be done later; I have news for you my lord husband.”

“Ohh?” Tywin says feeling himself beginning to harden underneath his wife’s ministrations.

“Yes,” Joanna says kissing his mouth, his cheek , anything she can get to. “I am with child.”

Tywin is stunned into silence then, his wife is pregnant? “How, how long?” he manages to sputter.

Joanna smiles down at him, and the smile is feline. “About two moons my love, I did not want to tell you before I was sure.”

She kisses him again and when they break up for air, Tywin gasps. “You are sure now then?”

Joanna laughs. “Oh yes my lord. I have a little lion cub inside of me.”

Tywin smiles and for the evening all worries about his father and his father’s whore are forgotten. The next day though, the worries come rushing back when there is a sharp pounding on his door. He sleepily gets up and opens the door a fraction, to find his brother Kevan standing in the doorway fully dressed. “Father wishes to see you Tywin.” His brother says.

Tywin nods, and gets dressed relatively quickly. He learnt the art of dressing quickly whilst in the Vale, one never knew when Jon Arryn would plan a trip into the Mountains of the Moon for a skirmish with the clansmen there. When he enters his father’s solar, he sees his father sat in the lord’s chair, looking pale and sickly. Around his father are his brothers Kevan and Tygett as well as the whore. “Ah Tywin, now that you are here we can begin. Please all of you sit down.”

Tywin was grateful that the whore at least had the sense not to sit in the seat that his mother had once sat in; she instead remained standing her hand resting on his father’s shoulder, a mockery of affection. “My love you had best tell them the news now before they hear it from someone else.” The whore says to his father, and Tywin bristles at hearing her address his father so.

His father sighs, a weak sigh, the sign of man giving up. “I am not long for this world, as you all know. My health has been failing for some time now. However, that is not the reason for why you have all been summoned here. Sharon is with child once more, and this time we hope the pregnancy will be successful. Should I die before this child is born, I wish to state clearly now that the child is not to be fostered out anywhere, it will be a Lion of the Rock just as much as you all are. And I will be writing to the King asking for this child to be legitimized as soon as it is born.”

Tywin nearly chokes on his own breath when hears his father’s words, he looks round at his two brothers and sees the mixture of shock and anger he feels reflected on their own faces. “Father you cannot be serious.” Tywin says.

“And why is that Tywin? Cannot my child be a Lannister just as you are?” the whore asks.

Tywin knows that perhaps he should hold his tongue, but after the fiasco with Marbrand he finds that his patience is at an end. “No they cannot be. You are a whore, that my father has unfortunately taken up as a mistress and has treated as a highborn woman. You are not of noble birth nor will your child be. I will not consent to have your child shaming the Lannister name.”

His father speaks then, his voice meant to sound harsh but coming off as old and tired. “Tywin enough of this foolery. This child will be your brother or sister. And that is no way to speak to Lady Sharon, she shall be your mother soon enough.”

Tywin is shocked that his father is still so blinded by his lust for the woman that he cannot see what she is trying to do. He looks at his brothers and sees that they are both as shocked as he is. “Father you cannot be serious!”Tywin exclaims. “You swore a holy oath never to remarry after mother died. We were all there for it, it is one thing to take up with another woman, but to wed her after swearing such an oath, as well as to ask for her child to be legitimized. Can you not see how that will look to your bannermen? It will make us a laughing stock once more.”

The whore laughs then mockingly. “And here I thought that lions did not worry about the opinions of sheep. Is that not what you often say Tywin?”

Tywin feels his anger begin to rise at that, and he has a sharp response ready when there is a knock on the door. Maester Geribald enters, stooped and stammering apologies, he hands a letter to Tywin’s father and then hurries out of the room. Tywin sees his father read the letter and then put it down. His father looks at him then and says. “It would appear that Princess Alyssa has given birth to a son, we have been summoned to King’s Landing for a tourney to celebrate the birth of the heir’s heir. This conversation is at an end, and what was discussed here shall go through whether you like it or not Tywin. I am the Lord of the Rock now until I die, and you would do well to remember that.”

Tywin looks at the whore and sees her grinning like a fool behind his father, and his suspicions that the words his father spoke were actually his are increased further, as well as his fear over the safety of his wife and siblings. Something will need to be done about the whore and her child, and soon .


	30. Sailing Ships

**Princess Alyssa Targaryen**

It had been five years since her marriage to Aegyl Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. Five years in which Alyssa had learnt more about the greenlands than she had ever thought possible. When she had been a girl growing up on Pyke, her father had always spoken of the Greenlanders with contempt, calling them soft and no fit match to rule the land they lived on. Quellon Greyjoy had been a proud man, a man who had wished to see the Iron Islands returned to its former glory, a man who wanted to bring the old way back and yet he had done nothing to allow that to happen. He had sat inside Pyke, plotting and brooding but doing nothing, some said it was because he was scared of the King and his hand, that he feared being killed by some godsforsaken animal on Pyke, others said it was because Quellon Greyjoy had become soft in his old age and was too tired to do anything more other than grumble.

The real reason as Alyssa had learnt was because he had agreed to betroth his only daughter and oldest child to the heir to the Iron Throne. The day her betrothal to Aegyl had been announced her father had come into her rooms and told her that she must be strong and proud, and that through her, a dynasty would be created that would rule the seven kingdoms for generations to come, bringing the Old Way back through marriage and not war. Quellon Greyjoy seemed most pleased with this turn of events, but her brother Balon had been furious. All of her brothers had taken their father’s words about the Old Way to heart, and yet it was Balon who had been the one to seriously consider bringing the Old Way back, her brother had fumed and fumed and raged about it all the night after the betrothal was announced and he had not even bothered to show up to her wedding still angry as he was. That was something Alyssa had never forgiven him for. It had fallen to Victarion to give her away in the Great Sept of Baelor, Victarion the brother she was closest to, the brother she told all of her secrets to and who told her all of his. Oh how she wished he could have remained in King’s Landing for longer than he did, but he had left a moon after her wedding to go on some raiding campaign of Essos.

Once Victarion had gone, Alyssa had been forced to confront her fears about her new family. She had heard the rumours of the King, the Queen and even her own betrothed, rumours that claimed that they were all sorcerers or heathens or other such rubbish. It had not taken her all that long to learn that her husband at least was no sorcerer nor was a heathen, instead he was a smart and caring man who had a heart of gold. Aegyl had done everything he thought possible during the early days of their marriage to make her feel more at ease and more comfortable, he had given her, her own ship to sail as part of the royal fleet, and when she had mentioned something about being homesick, after Aemon had been born he had decreed that they would live from Dragonstone. The rest of her husband’s family remained largely strangers to her because of this, but from what she had seen, the king was just as intimidating and fearsome as all the stories had painted him as, the queen was kind and sweet. Princess Rhaenys, Aegyl’s mother had a sharp mind and even sharper tongue, and Alyssa would admit that she was slightly afraid of her goodmother. Prince Aenar was of the Kingsguard and as such she did not seem him for most of the time. Prince Maekar was a black heart and a rogue, someone who was very, very lively and boisterous, so filled with life where his siblings seemed so serious. Lady Jaehara, Alyssa had met just the once and so she knew not that much about her, nor did Aegyl.

 

Dragonstone itself, was a lot more cheerful than she had been led to believe, it did remind her a lot of Pyke, in the way the waves crashed over the rocks, and there was a constant smell of the sea. She felt more at home in Dragonstone than she ever had in King’s Landing. Then again she supposed that also had something largely to do with the presence of her husband and children. Since Aemon’s birth five years ago, she had given birth to three more children, twins Viserys and Baelon both of whom at age three looked more and more like their father with their silver hair and violet eyes than Aemon did with his black as night hair and purple eyes, and Rhaena sweet Rhaena who at two was already a strong willed personality. They all provided both herself and Aegyl countless hours of entertainment, with their antics and little squabbles; Alyssa would have it no other way.

Her husband also seemed to keep a very interesting friendship group, as well as being friends with Lord Marcus Velaryon, a man who was very smart and very, very good looking, Aegyl was friends with Tywin Lannister, the Lord of the Rock, a man who was ruthless in the way he dealt with rebels and trouble makers. That had been evident from the way he had dealt with the rebel houses in the Westerlands during the war of the lions, and in the way he had continued to demand reparations from the houses that had been left standing from the rebellion. Of course there had been one chink in the mighty lion’s armour, his father’s mistress had been pregnant with a child during the first year of Alyssa’s marriage, and Tywin had written to her husband telling him that his father meant to legitimize the bastard and that Tywin feared what this could mean for his own children who were soon to be born. Tywin had asked Aegyl to do all he could to persuade the king not to legitimize the bastard, and somehow Aegyl had managed to convince his grandfather against doing what Tytos Lannister wanted, and though that action had antagonized relations between the two men further, it had earnt Aegyl, his friend’s undying gratitude, something that Alyssa felt would come in very handy at some point later on.

Aegyl had informed her shortly after that, that the woman had died in labour, her child stillborn. Tywin had written to him to inform him that when Tytos Lannister had been informed of his mistress’s death, he had closed his eyes and ended his pitiful existence on this earth. Something, Aegyl said had earnt him the unending enmity of Tywin, and that the man had been buried in the crypts of the Rock, but that Tywin would never mourn him. Tywin and his wife Joanna had come to visit them on Dragonstone, in fact they had been here for the past few days, bringing with them their twins Jaime and Cersei, it was almost impossible to tell the two apart from one another, so alike did they seem. Though Alyssa did have a strange feeling about the girl whenever she saw her, she was not sure what it was but something about her felt, wrong.

“What are you thinking about my lady?” Aegyl asked, winding his arms around her.

Alyssa hummed slightly, and leaned back into his embrace. “Nothing my lord, merely pondering our lives.”

Her husband chuckled softly. “Have you become a brooding woman since coming to Dragonstone Al? You have not set foot on our ship since Rhaena turned one. Is something the matter?”

It was true, since Rhaena’s birth she had not set foot on the Sea Dragon, the ship that Aegyl had given her as a wedding present, instead preferring to remain on solid ground. “I fear you have made me a Greenlander my prince. For I can barely stand to be away from you and the children for long periods of time.”

She turned then and kissed Aegyl, he kissed her back and when they eventually broke off for air, they were both flushed. Her husband cleared his throat. “There was a raven earlier today, from Summerhall. It seems Aerys shall be joining us for a time.”

Alyssa could see the tension in her husband’s shoulders when he mentioned his cousin. Prince Aerys Targaryen of Summerhall, was a strange man, he was be equal turns kind and cruel, and he lusted after Joanna Lannister like nothing else, though he was wed and a boy already. “Does Tywin know my prince?” Alyssa asked.

“Aye he was there when the raven came. He and Joanna shall be remaining in their rooms for however long Aerys chooses to stay here before he heads on for King’s Landing.” Aegyl replied.

“You mean he will not be staying here for long?” Alyssa asked feeling hope bloom in her chest, the less time one spent in his company the better.

Aegyl nodded. “Aye. His uncle Prince Aelix has summoned him to the capital, for some business or the other. I know not, but I do not care.”

There was a knock on the door, and then Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard opened the door and said rather apologetically. “Lord Tywin wishes to speak with both of you my prince.”

Alyssa saw her husband nod, and then Tywin Lannister strode into the room, tall and proud as brass. He got to one knee before them. “My Prince, princess.” After Aegyl had bid him rise, Tywin spoke once more. “I am sorry for interrupting your personal time, but I was wondering if we could speak of an issue of great importance?”

Alyssa looked to her husband who merely nodded and so they all sat down. But before they spoke about whatever it was that Tywin wished to speak to them off Alyssa asked. “Where is Lady Joanna Tywin? Surely she should be privy to this conversation?”

Tywin Lannister was silent for a moment before replying. “My wife and I have discussed this issue at great length, and as such she agrees with what I am about to ask.”

Her husband was growing impatient, she could see from the way his legs were beginning to twitch. His voice was perfectly calm though when he said. “           Very well then Ty, what is it that you wish to speak of?”

Tywin Lannister’s face was a mask, an unreadable mask at that moment, and when he spoke his voice betrayed no emotion whatsoever. “I wish to discuss the possibility of arranging a betrothal between my son Jaime and your daughter Princess Rhaena. To further the bonds between Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne.”

Silence, and then Alyssa spoke. “Surely it is too early, to begin speaking of such things Lord Tywin. Both of our children are still babes, they have much growing to be done before a betrothal should be discussed. Surely you recognise such a thing?”

Tywin Lannister turned to her, and his expression was unreadable, but she could detect the slightest hint of anger boiling there beneath the surface. “They may be babes now, but they will not be forever my princess. The sooner we discuss betrothal options for them, the better the kingdoms will be for it. Relations between the Iron Throne and the Rock have been tense since the days of the first Blackfyre rebellion. I see this betrothal as a chance to end such tensions once and for all.”

Alyssa looked at her husband then, Aegyl had been silent for a long time, seemingly pondering what his friend had said. When he spoke his voice was ponderous as well. “So what you are asking for Ty is that in order to better ease relations between our two houses, we betroth are children together when both are still shitting in their swaddling clothes? Is that what you are asking?” Tywin Lannister nodded, and Aegyl laughed then. “Ah very well then, I will not seal the betrothal in writing just yet, that shall wait until I sit the Iron Throne. But until then a handshake will have to suffice.”

Once her husband and his best friend had shook hands on the matter, and Tywin Lannister had left sufficiently happy, Alyssa spoke then. “Are you sure about this my prince? Are you sure about betrothing Rhaena to Jaime Lannister? What if you change your mind, or a more viable option comes up?”

Her husband stood up then and walked to the window. His voice was soft when he replied. “A more viable option you say? Such as what? Marrying Rhaena to a Stark? No we already have ties to the Starks, and besides I do not wish for them to have more power than they already do. The Arryns, Jon Arryn has not had a child yet by any of his wives, and Elbert Arryn is betrothed to some Royce girl. The Tullys and Tyrells would be an insult to our little girl. No Tywin and his son are the best option and they will heal the wounds that my grandfather has never bothered to heal. Besides,” her husband said turning round to face her then. “They are both still babes now; there is plenty of time left before we have to make anything official.”

Alyssa nodded, still feeling slightly uneasy about the whole thing, but in the end she let the matter drop. Two weeks later, Prince Aerys arrived with some forty men from Summerhall, his wife Princess Rhaella and their son Prince Rhaegar remained in Summerhall, for Aerys said that he did not wish to be burdened by extra luggage on the trip. Alyssa watched as her husband entertained the Prince, drinking with him and joking with him, all the while his grip on his knife tightened at the dining table. Aerys Targaryen had always had the air of thinking he was greater than he actually was, he was uncouth and loud and just a tad mad, and Alyssa feared for his wife and child, being raised in the same house as him.

Tywin and Joanna were present for most of the time that Aerys was at Dragonstone, though both tended to keep to themselves, saying little during the feasts and during the day time, preferring to go exploring of the islands around Dragonstone. Alyssa did not miss the covetous looks Aerys sent towards Joanna, and she felt sorry for her friend, Aerys truly was a depraved man to think he could stand a chance with Joanna when Tywin was there. The mighty lion of the Rock was often seen fuming silently after the meals, especially those that involved dancing, where Aerys would press himself closer than was acceptable to Joanna.

Thankfully, the children seemed oblivious to all the tension going on around them. Aemon, Viserys and Baelon would all report cheerfully back to her of the games they and Jaime Lannister would play, whilst Rhaena would gush about the lovely things she and Cersei did. Of course towards the end of Aerys stay with them on Dragonstone, the true reason for why he was here came up. She, Aegyl and Aerys were sat in Aegyl’s solar, cups of hippocras in their hands, a peaceful silence after the farewell feast had ended, the children were in bed as were Tywin and Joanna.

Aerys spoke then breaking the silence, his voice slurred from the wine. “Thank you for treating me so well coz. I did not expect such nice treatment from you or your savage of a wife.”

Alyssa felt Aegyl tense next to her, and she laid a warning hand on his arm. “You are most welcome my prince.” Alyssa replied.

“I was not speaking to you woman. Now Aegyl, I have had enough of toying around the edges of this. You must know why I decided to stop by Dragonstone on my way to the capital. And it was not just to say hello.” Aerys stated.

Aegyl was silent for a long time. “I did simply think you were here to say hello coz, before you went to assume a council position on my grandfather’s council.”

Aerys snorted then. “Then you must be a fool. Your grandfather is ailing you fool. Though I am sure you are aware of that. No I have come to discuss the betrothal of your daughter and my son.”

The silence this time was filled with tension, Alyssa felt her tensing inside, the dread, the thing she had feared the most, sending her little girl off to Summerhall to be a plaything for Rhaegar Targaryen. Aegyl spoke then his voice hard. “I was aware of no such betrothal coz.”

Aerys snorted once more. “There is no betrothal at the moment you fool. But soon enough there will be. Think about Aegyl, the chance to reunite the bloodlines of our ancestors, a chance to create a supreme dynasty that will tower over all others. The Targaryens will be great again.”

Her husband spoke once more, his voice cold. “Our family is already great coz. We rule the Seven Kingdoms, there is peace in the realm and our lords are happy.”

“You are a fool if you believe that Aegyl. Your grandfather and the savage he has as hand have made our family a laughing stock. We no longer command fear the way we used to. A wedding between your daughter and my son could make such a thing possible again.”

Alyssa felt herself sinking; her worst fears seem to be coming true. Aegyl though remained stoic, and his voice was still hard when he replied to his cousin. “I am afraid that it is you who is delusional coz. But that is neither here nor there. My daughter is not yet out of her swaddling clothes, and you son is by far too old for her. No I am afraid I cannot agree to a betrothal between the two of them.”

Aerys stood up then his face flushed, his voice was loud when he spoke next. “You would refuse an offer from the dragon? Have you lost your sense coz? Or have you already agreed to wed your daughter off to Tywin’s get? You fool, to contaminate the blood of the dragon with the blood of lions.” Aerys spat then and said. “You will not have many allies left once this comes out.” He had said that last part so loudly that Ser Brandon had burst into the room his sword drawn.

Aegyl was calm when he said. “Ser Brandon, I fear my cousin has drunk more than he can handle, please see him to his rooms.”

The next day Aerys departed for King’s Landing, and a raven came from the capital asking for their presence as well, for the King was unwell and wished to see them all before he departed from the world.


	31. Farewell My King

**King Brynden I Targaryen**

He dreamed often most days and most nights now. Milk of the poppy helping to numb the pain that the illness had created. The illness, had no name but according to Pycelle it was slowly destroying his organs and body system, making it that much harder for his body to be able to withstand things such as the cold or wind. Hence why the door was closed and a fire was often raging in his chambers, he could not feel the heat though, and sometimes knowing that was almost unbearable. He was blood of the dragon, not some sheep to die from a cold.

Rowena had succumbed to the same illness some three weeks ago. Brynden knew because Rhaenys had come to tell him, her eyes red with the tears she had been crying. For their safety, Pycelle had had them kept in separate rooms, the less chance to spread the illness he said. Now though, Brynden wished he had been there when Rowena had breathed her last, so that he could hold her in his arms and kiss her and love her just one last time, but pure logic had robbed him of that chance. And now his wife was dead, her body had been burned her ashes were to be interred in King’s Landing along with his once his day came.

Though he was ill, the council continued to function and run, and his daughter and Edwyle continued to bring him reports of what was happening in the realm, his realm. The Westerlands it seemed had finally recovered from the devastation that stupid rebellion had inflicted on it, eight years later. Edwyle told him that the scars of that war were still being felt though in the Westerlands, with Tywin Lannister keeping a very close eye on what his bannermen did and said with regards to House Lannister. There would be more trouble there in the distant future Brynden had a sneaking suspicion. There were pirates in the Stepstones as well, who had not yet declared their intentions, envoys had been sent and yet none had returned, and so Brynden had asked that a warning be sent to these pirates, respond or they would face hellfire.

Not much else was happening in Westeros, finally after decades of struggle his kingdom was at peace, and it seemed as if this peace truly would last. It would not be like the fleeting peace of yesteryear, where they would crush one rebellion only for another one to open up some years later. The Blackfyres were all dead; those that mattered at least, Maelys Blackfyre’s sister had died in prison in the black cells some days ago, victim to malnourishment, Edwyle’s hand Brynden suspected. He did not really care, the less Blackfyres there were in Westeros the better the world would be for it. The work his grandfather and uncle had set out to do all those years ago after the first Blackfyre rebellion had ended had finally been achieved he hoped. A lasting peace, a chance for the land to grow fat and prosperous, no longer would the people have to cower in fear of another war and destruction, they would only know happiness.

Thinking about that made Brynden think about his own time as king. He had become king at the age of ten the year his supposed father Aerys I had died in his sleep. For the first few years of his reign his mother and his actual father had run the kingdoms, seeing the Ironborn put back in their place and dealing with another Blackfyre rebellion. Then once he had become king in his own right, it had been a struggle at times. He had not always been confident that the choices he had made were the right ones, but once he had made them he never considered changing his mind, that was the sign of a weak monarch, if they hesitated, once a decision had been made in the mind, one had to follow through with it, otherwise others would think you weak and try and manipulate your weakness for their own benefit. That was what Brynden had learnt from Prince Maekar, and from his own experience. He was grateful that he had learnt that lesson early, for there had been many things that had tested him and made him question his choices, but never had he once been unsure of a decision once it had been made.

He’d had some very good support along the way as well. His uncle, his great uncle and his mother had all done their bit to make sure that he would be able to rule and bring peace to Westeros. His goodbrother Edwyle had helped him as well, helping to give him confidence in those times when he had doubted himself politically. Theirs had been a friendship that had developed over time and was now something more, they were more like brothers than friends. And like brothers they’d had their differences but ultimately they had done their best and now they were reaping the rewards.

He had few regrets as king, he wished he’d had Loras Arryn killed when he’d seen the fool in Gulltown and not allowed him to escape across the narrow sea. What the fool was doing now Brynden knew not nor did he care, all he knew was that had cost his wife years of panic and torture, and he would have stopped it earlier had he been more proactive. He’d also have not agreed to send his son to wed the Lothston girl, he should never have trusted Lothston, but then again they had fought bravely, still it made no matter now, what was done was done. He could almost hear his wife, his sweet Rowena reminding him of that fact, when he had despaired, he could hear his uncle’s voice calling to him a sharp reminder that he was not done just yet. Oh but to rest, that would be sweet but first he had business he needed to attend to. “Edwyle.” He whispered, and quick as a flash the hand of the king was by his side kneeling down.

“Your Grace.” His friend says, grey is starting to cover large parts of his friend’s hair and beard, though the grey eyes are sharp as they have ever been.

“You have been quiet as of late Ed. Speak; I do not like the silence.” Brynden says.

His friend is silent for a moment before saying. “I did not wish for you over exert yourself Your Grace. You need as much rest as you can get.”

Brynden snorts, or tries to. “Pah, we both know I won’t live past sunset Ed. No I want some decent conversation before I leave this world. Tell me my friend, how are you family doing? How is Myriah?”

Edwyle Stark is a man who rarely smiles but he does so now. “They are all well Your Grace. Myriah is doing well, she writes that Melissa and her children are causing havoc in Winterfell along with Rickard’s own children Brandon and Eddard. Lyanna and Benjen are too young to do much else but run after their older siblings.”

Brynden smiles then and says. “That is good, very good. I would have liked to have met them, but alas it was not meant to be. Still we have done many a good thing together you and I have we not my friend?”

Edwyle smiles sadly, and says. “Aye Your Grace, we have. Westeros is at peace, and there will be no more wars for the throne now for a very, very long time. We have made sure the kingdoms are ready for when the eventual darkness has returned. We have done very well; you have done very well Your Grace. Maekar and Aelinor would be very proud.”

Brynden coughs and then says. “Aye, proud. Aye all I ever wished for was for them to be proud. But still, they would be proud of you as well Ed. You kept your promise as well, we’ve guided Westeros for 28 years together, and now we’ve made sure that there will never be another war for that damnable Iron chair. We’ve done well.”

His friend nods, and then says. “You should rest Your Grace. There will be much more needed for you to do before you can leave peacefully.”

Brynden laughs but then begins coughing once more. “Pah, there is always more that needs to be done. But first I must needs know something my friend. I know you will head north soon enough, and that Aegyl will name Tywin Lannister his hand. But I must know that you will keep an eye on them, my family. At least until you are sure they are safe and out of harm’s way. Aerys is a grasper and will try many things to get what he thinks is rightfully his, and Pycelle is but a blubbering fool, make sure you keep an eye on them from wherever you go once you leave this place. Promise me Ed; promise me you’ll do that.”

His friend is silent for a long moment before he says. “I promise Your Grace. I will do all I can from where I am going to make sure your family is safe and protected and that Aerys Targaryen never gets his hands on the Iron Throne.”

Brynden smiles and then wheezes. “You are a good man Ed. A true and honest friend, and a good man. You have served me well as hand Ed. I could not have asked for a better friend or brother or hand. I know you will keep the world safe once I am gone.” Brynden is silent then for a moment before he says. “Aegyl will need some advice before you leave. I have said all I can tell him, but my grandson is stubborn headed. He will need a firm hand to remind him of his duties before he appoints Tywin.” Edwyle nods. Brynden is silent once more and then after a coughing fit has passed he says. “Bring my children in. I wish to see them one last time.” His friend nods and opens the door, and soon enough his children and grandchildren file into the room. Rhaenys his eldest surviving child leads them in, she walks with grace and has a commanding presence something that reminds him of his own mother, she sits by his chest and laces their hands together. Aenar stands at the foot of the bed, dressed in Kingsguard white, a decision Brynden still questions. Maekar named after his favourite uncle, sits in the chair that Edwyle vacated, this son of his, he knows has been compared to Daemon Targaryen, a rogue he has been called a skilled fighter, a talented man, but a rogue nonetheless. Jaehara is shining little girl, has become a woman now, a mother in her own right. He is proud of all of his children and still feels the gaping holes where their dead siblings are. Aegyl stands near his mother looking for all the world like Maelor did when Brynden last saw him. Jaehara’s children and Aegyl’s had come and said their goodbyes earlier.

“My children.” Brynden begins. “I am so very, very proud of you all. Your mother was as well, you must know that.”

“We do father.” Rhaenys says.

Brynden smiles at her and then kisses her fingers. “Rhaenys my brave, brave girl. You have all of your mother’s strength and wit in you. That you shall need in the days to come. Be strong when I am gone my brave girl.”

“I will father.” Rhaenys says, though he can hear the crack in her voice she does not cry.

“Aenar,” Brynden wheezes. And his son steps closer his armour clinking slightly. “I am very proud of you my boy. Putting the needs of the kingdom above your own. A finer swordsman I have never seen. Defend your family well my boy.” Aenar says nothing he merely nods. “Jaehara,” Brynden says before coughing, blood this time. “My sweet, learn what you can from Rhaenys and use it wisely.”

Jaehara nods, she does not speak for her eyes are watery and her voice is choked. His children, his precious children, they are all grown now; he knows not what to say to them to convey the love he feels for them. He squeezes Rhaenys hand, and then looks at Maekar. “You were named for a great man Maekar. Do me proud son.”

“I will father.” Maekar replies.

Brynden looks at Aegyl then but before he can begin speaking he coughs and coughs and coughs, so much so that Rhaenys has to get a rag for him to cough into. When he stops and she pulls the rag away it is stained red with his blood. “Father, perhaps you should rest. We can speak on the morrow.” Rhaenys says.

“No, I will not be here on the morrow and there are things you all must know.” Brynden says. Before he turns to Aegyl and says. “Aegyl, my lad. You will be king once this day is done. Rule well and justly. Do not let anyone sway you from your path, and never, ever question yourself once you have made a decision. You are the dragon now, and you must show them what you are made of. I leave you peace, build on it and make Westeros become the nation it was supposed to be.” His grandson nods, his eyes watery.

There is more he would like to say, but he is not quite sure how to phrase the words. He has never been good with such things, preferring to keep things simple. He never anticipated having so much to say upon his deathbed. Rhaenys, thank the gods for Rhaenys though, she senses he wishes to rest and so she says. “Right enough, all of you. We can come back to see you later father. We should let you get some rest.” His children and grandchild get up and kiss his brown and then walk out the door, except for Rhaenys whose hand he still holds. She looks at him and he merely smiles, she sits down.

“Grab a quill and some parchment Rhaenys, and write down the words I say.” Brynden begins, once his daughter has done as asked he speaks once more. “I Brynden of House Targaryen, first of my name, King of the Andals and the First name, you know the titles Rhaenys.” His daughter scratches down the words and then he continues. “Do hereby declare that my grandson Aegyl Targaryen, son of Prince Maelor and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and Prince of Dragonstone, is hereby confirmed as my heir, and that all previous wills regarding the matter of succession are null and void.” Once Rhaenys has finished writing that part out, Brynden speaks once more. “Now pass me the parchment Rhaenys.” His daughter does just that and with shaky hands he signs the document and then asks that Edwyle, Pycelle and Hightower be brought in to witness the sealing. Once they are in the room he looks at them all in turn and says. “I am dying my lords that much is evident, the document my daughter holds in her hands is my last will and testament. You are here to bear witness to my sealing of the document.” With shaky hands he presses the wax to the seal, and once the three headed dragon is on the paper, he lies back down on the bed. “Now leave me all of you. Rhaenys stay.”

Once the others have left Rhaenys looks down at him and asks softly. “Would you like me to sing to you father?” Brynden nods and so lacing her fingers with his, his daughter begins to sing, a song that has been passed down the generations of their family since Aenar the Exile fled Valyria, and even before that.

When Rhaenys reaches the last word, she looks at her father and sees that his chest has stopped rising and falling, his grip in her hand is loose. King Brynden Targaryen, the king who brought peace, was dead. He had ruled for forty nine years.


	32. Emailath

**Lord Edwyle Stark**

An era had come to an end, his friend and goodbrother King Brynden Targaryen the first of his name was dead Not from a wound taken in battle but from an illness, an illness that had taken the Queen as well as two knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Quentyn Bracken and Ser Lucas Goodbrook had died from the fever at an earlier stage than the King, and the king had signed the documents that had named Ser Harold Grandison and Ser Jonothor Darry as their replacements the ceremonies had taken place within a fortnight. Edwyle though would not be present to witness them.

With Brynden dead, and his wife at home ailing, Edwyle felt he would serve no further purpose in the south or in King’s Landing. His friend had ruled Westeros for forty nine years, 28 of which Edwyle had been hand. He knew he was the third longest serving hand of the king, and he also knew that he was the most feared. These southerners lived in terror of him, he had a reputation for sinister and fearsome acts, a reputation that had followed him from the north, it had served him well during his time in the south and the nest of vipers called the capital. Maekar had once told him that men would attack those who they feared, those they were terrified of though, they were the people that would others would do all they could to avoid. And that had been the case for Edwyle, no one had threatened him or even dared to, and now he could return home.

There was just one last thing he needed to do. Aegyl Targaryen, Brynden’s grandson was the king now, and Edwyle knew who would be appointed hand, he knew that Aegyl feared him and whilst that was a good thing, it was something that he truly could not be bothered exploiting. The boy had been crowned and anointed with the seven oils in that godsforsaken sept, and now was holding his first court session, where certain things would be announced. Edwyle had already given instructions to his household to be ready for him the minute he entered the Tower of the Hand, once he was done with what he meant to do, he would not look back.

As he entered the throne room, he noticed that it was already quite full, all the nobles of the court had come for this first session, and when the king entered accompanied by the seven knights of the Kingsguard as well as his queen. Once the king sat down, the herald announced the proceedings. “His Grace King Aegyl Targaryen, the first of his name wishes to sort out and declare a few issues before court can begin properly. Lord Edwyle Stark has asked to speak first before the king, he may do so now.”

Edwyle stepped forward, bowed before the throne and then, unpinned the badge of the direwolf hand that Brynden had given him all those years ago. He threw it to the floor so that it landed at the base of the throne. There was some murmuring, Edwyle looked up at the king and said simply. “I am done Your Grace. My time in the south has come to an end. I wish you and yours well.” Whilst the murmuring increased and the king was silent from shock, Edwyle turned round and walked out of the throne room, his heart was calm, he was calm. He waked back to the Tower of the hand and the halls were deserted, most like everyone was in the throne room. When he reaches the entrance to the tower he sees his steward Martyn Poole barking orders at various people, “Martyn all is ready?” he asks softly.

Poole bows lowly and then says. “Yes my lord hand, all is set for the departure.”

Edwyle grimaces. “I am no longer hand Martyn. But still before we leave there is one last thing I must do.” Poole nods and then Edwyle walks back into the Tower, and sits at the base of the stairs waiting. Sure enough after a few moments his son Ser Brandon Stark dressed in the white enamelled armour of the Kingsguard appears. “Son.” Edwyle says simply.

“Father,” his son begins. “You caused quite the scene in the throne room. Half the court was stunned into silence, and the other half began ranting for your head for what you did.”

Edwyle laughs then and asks. “And the king? How did the hatchling react?”

His son hesitates for a moment and then he replies. “He was too shocked to do anything for a long time. But he eventually managed to recover enough to go on with the rest of the session. Tywin Lannister has been named as your replacement.”

Edwyle nods, he had suspected as much, those two were very close, but the boy would need to be wary of the lion’s ambition. “So,” Edwyle says. “What brings you here son? You have not ventured here in sometime.”

His son is silent for a moment and then he replies. “I know you are leaving father, so I came to say goodbye, and that I will see you soon.”

Edwyle nods. “Aye, before I depart though son, there is one thing I must ask of you.” His son nods. “You will be well aware of the reputation I have in the south and at court, that reputation must not be allowed to die or diminish. It has kept you and the royal family safe for a long time, and it must continue to do so. There are those who will seek to harm the royal family now that myself and Brynden are gone. They cannot be allowed to do so, hence my legend must continue, the rumours about the things I do must continue. Do you understand son?”

His son nods. “Yes father, but which rumours though? There are many.”

Edwyle laughs once more and says. “Oh you will know which rumours to keep spreading when the time comes son. But for now I must bid you farewell. I will give your love to your mother.” He stops then, knowing that this will be the last time he ever sees his son, and merely looks at his youngest child and then, hugs him and whispers. “I am very, very proud of you and all you have managed to achieve Brandon.”

With that he breaks the hug, his son returns to White Sword Tower and Edwyle mounts his horse and rides away from the Tower of the Hand, out of the Red Keep and out of King’s Landing. He leaves by the Iron Gate, and does not look back once he is passed the gate, his home for twenty eight years gradually becomes more and more of a dot on the horizon, and Winterfell is calling to him. He shivers with anticipation at seeing his home and his wife once more.

The journey to King’s Landing twenty eight years ago had been during the early days of spring, where the snow had still been melting and the north had run wild in his blood. The King had been a slightly more of a man but less than what he would become, eager to please and the conversation had flowed between them easily. Now twenty eight years later, Edwyle rode with his household guard minus his two children Anna and Brandon and he rode in silence occasionally speaking with some of the men to keep their spirits up on the long journey home. Otherwise he mainly rode in silence and allowed his thoughts to wander.

He had not been to Winterfell for some time, twenty years at least, his eldest daughter Melissa was herself a grandmother now, that much he knew her eldest son Jorah had wed some girl from clan Norrey and had had a son. Melissa also had some five other children ranging between twenty and ten. Myriah had written to him of them, all of them were like Melissa according to his wife, filled with energy and always curious. Melissa’s husband had died in a wildling raid that had been put down by his son Rickard. His eldest son was wed to Arya Glover, and had four children with her, three boys and a girl. Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen they were called. Brandon was said to be wild and carefree, just as Lyanna was, Eddard Myriah had written was deathly serious like Rickard had been as a young boy.

He looked forward to meeting them, something which must have had him increase the pace of their journey. For the minute they crossed the Neck, and raised passed Moat Cailin, what would take them another two weeks took them just six days, with the pace Edwyle had set desperate to be home. When he rode through the gates, his son and grandchildren were there waiting for him. As he dismounted they bowed and then when he bid them rise, introductions were made, Rickard’s eldest son was just as bold and brash as Myriah had said he would be looking straight into Edwyle’s eyes as they were introduced, the others were shy and hesitant when being introduced to him, and little Benjen was no more than a babe still in swaddling clothes. Once the introductions had been made and all was set to rights, Rickard whispered to him. “Mother is in your rooms waiting for you.” Edwyle nodded and walked straight off into that direction.

Edwyle entered his rooms, and found his wife lying in the bed her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. Edwyle sat down on the edge of the bed and took his boots off, before getting into bed with his wife, he pulled her close to him and felt her forehead, she was very, very warm, the fever was strong. “So you are back home my love.” Myriah purred.

He kissed her hair. “Yes my love. Did you miss me?”

His wife turned round then so that she was facing him and she smiled at him wickedly. “Oh very much so, though not as much as you missed me apparently.”

After that conversation was rather limited though, a few days later after Edwyle had just finished meeting with his son to go over the accounts he found his wife sitting up in bed, reading a book seemingly thoroughly engaged in it. Edwyle spent a while standing in the doorway simply looking at her and taking her in. He had not seen her in so long, gods he had missed her. As if sensing his looks, she looked up at him and smiled at him, Edwyle walked into the room then and asked her. “How are you feeling my love?”

His wife grimaced slightly then and replied. “Ill my love, so very ill. But I get bored merely sleeping and besides maester Walys says that it is okay for me to do some reading.”

Edwyle nods and then asks. “Do you know how long you have left my love?”

His wife laughs then, the sound musical to his ears. “Ah such a cheerful man you are my love! But yes, I have two weeks at most left according to what Walys tells me. Still at least now you are here. Anyway what news did you learn today from your discussions with our son?”

Edwyle sighs then. “The Night’s Watch is asking for more men, it appears they have suffered a great deal of shortages in recent times. This has resulted in more wildlings making it across the wall though they are getting stopped at the gift and killed, so that is not too much of an issue though it is something I mean to do more about. There is some dispute over land between Lords Bolton and Hornwood that will need looking at as well.”

Myriah hums. “Those two have been arguing over land for a long time now, they settle the issue and then something new arises. Roose Bolton is a cold man my lord I will tell you that now, he’s almost unfeeling.”

“Has Rickard not been able to resolve the matter effectively? Why does it keep coming up?” Edwyle asked.

“No Rickard has solved the matter many times, it’s just that Lord Roose is a cold man and Lord Hornwood is stubborn the two will never see eye to eye on anything. Rickard has done a very good job running Winterfell and the North whilst you were away my love. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.” Myriah replies.

“I know my love, I know.” Edwyle whispers kissing her hair once more. The next two weeks pass by in a blur for Edwyle, and before he knows it he is lighting his wife’s funeral pyre and saying goodbye to her as her body is reduced to ashes. The last thing tying him to this world gone, dead just like his goodbrother, his father, his mother and all his cousins and siblings. All gone now, his son will rule Winterfell and the north wisely, he knows, he can feel it that his son will continue the hard work. But before he leaves, Edwyle summons his son to his solar one day about three weeks after Myriah died and imparts one final piece of advice to his son. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell son. We are the north; we belong to the north, not the vipers pit that is the south. Always remember that, for the north remembers my son.”

A week after that, one day in the middle of the night Edwyle Stark leaves Winterfell with only a horse and some food and water. He leaves Ice behind for his son, and he also leaves behind a book a journal for his son to read when the time comes. The world will believe that Edwyle Stark, the former hand of the king and lord of Winterfell died in his sleep on the seventh day of the fifth month of the 270th year after Aegon’s Landing, but the truth is much more complicated than that. Edwyle though did not care, for he now resides in a cave where the last of the children are gathered. To begin his watch. 


	33. Damn the Flood

****

**Lord Rickard Stark**

It had been two years since his father Edwyle Stark had ‘died’ to the world. Rickard knew that his father had gone north of the wall, though for what exact reason he had not been sure of until just recently. Whilst he had been looking through some of the old books in the solar that was now his, he had found a little journal with the direwolf of House Stark on its front cover, curious as to what could be inside the journal; Rickard had opened it and begun reading. It had taken him a little while to figure out that the journal had been written by his father, for the words that were written inside seemed so far reaching and fantastical that it surely could not have come from a sane person. The words spoke of the visions his father had had since the time he was a boy, detailing a great many things that had already come to pass and things that were yet to happen. Rickard had heard the rumours of his father being a greenseer or a warg, and he had never taken such things seriously before, always believing that the rumours had come about because people were deeply scared of his father.

After reading the journal though he was not entirely sure, the things his father had written down, had actually occurred. The Blackfyre rebellion that had cost King Brynden his two oldest sons was written down in such exquisite detail, and that too some five years before it happened, that Rickard had had to concede that such things as wargs and greenseers might actually exist. It was after reading the details of a dream his father had had relation to some great event, some great cataclysmic event that had convinced Rickard that his father truly was never coming back. His father had written in the journal that only one thing could make sure that Westeros was ready for the event now that King Brynden was dead, and that was himself, and so his father had left the mortal world behind and had become...what exactly Rickard was not too sure.

He had not told anyone else about the journal, not truly sure if there was anyone he could trust with such things, and so he kept it in a private safe in his rooms under lock and key in a place in the room where no one would find it. He often spent many a night reading the journals trying to make sense of the dreams his father had written down, often he came away frustrated and angry. The words made little sense to him, and he often wondered if they had made sense to his father. Somehow he thought so, and such a thing did deeply frustrate Rickard, for though his father had lived in the south for 28 years following his appointment as Hand of the King, and though Rickard had all but ruled Winterfell and the north since he had turned sixteen, the lords of the north had lived in fear of the mighty Edwyle Stark, and Rickard had often suspected that it was because of his father’s myth that they had been so compliant to him and his suggestions more than anything else.

Such thoughts had become less so over time though, when the wildlings led by one Torreg Banewolf, had climbed over the wall and begun raiding through the gift and close to Last Hearth, Rickard had gathered his banners or some of them atleast and had together with Beron Umber the Lord of Last Hearth had thrown back the Wildling raiders and had killed Banewolf himself. That had earnt him the respect and loyalty of House Umber and the other northern houses that were often threatened by wildling raiders. Of course ruling the north had proved relatively easy, the northern lords were not by nature a quarrelsome lot, apart from the mountain clans and even they seemed to have improved over time. His nephew, Jorah was now the head of Clan Wull and as such had gone about asserting his dominance over the rest of the mountain clans thoroughly. Still there was an ongoing argument between Lord Roose Bolton and Lord Rodwell Hornwood over some woodland that both claimed belonged on their border.

Rodwell Hornwood had served as the Lord of Hornwood since Rickard had been just a boy, the man was a fiercesome warrior and a very clever man, it was said that he had been Edwyle Stark’s right hand man during his father’s time ruling the north alone. Roose Bolton was a young man, who came from a line that had always caused trouble in the north, the man’s father Donnel had been one of the biggest and scariest men Rickard had ever met, up there with his own father, but the man had cowered in fear of Edwyle Stark and had cowered from Rickard as well. His son, gods his son was the coldest man Rickard had ever met, it seemed to him as if Roose Bolton had no emotions inside of him, as if he had simply been born as a young man who was cold and calculating.

He had spent the past five years arguing over that damnable piece of woodland, and though Rickard had thought the issue settled before his father had come home, it clearly was not. The issue had flared up again, and his father’s stern words had declared the woodland neutral in terms of which it belonged to. However, it had in the past few months become an issue once more, and it was beginning to drive Rickard mad. He would need to sort the issue out or claim the lands for himself. He could not afford to have his lords bickering over something like this, not now, and not ever.

Shouts from the yard brought Rickard’s attention back to the present. He watched from the window as his two sons Brandon and Eddard fought each other with wooden swords. Having children still felt like such a novelty to him, his first wife Cora had died trying to birth him a son, the boy had been stillborn, and though Rickard had been crushed by both his wife and son’s deaths, he had been relieved as well, for he had not been ready for fatherhood then. His second wife Arya, had been young when they had wed, and so they had waited a few years before having children, of whom Brandon was the eldest. His heir was a charming young lad, full of energy and mischief, just like Rickard’s younger brother had been when they were children. His second son Eddard was quiet and solemn and also quite shy, something that Rickard saw as being something like him as well, that was not good that would have to change, if his plans were to be successful. His younger two children, Lyanna and Benjen were thick as thieves, doing everything together they were nigh inseparable, and Rickard knew his wife despaired of ever making a proper lady out of Lyanna.

His wife’s hand on his arm brought him out of his reverie. “What are you thinking about my love?” Arya asked him.

Rickard chuckled slightly and said. “Oh I was just looking at our boys my love. They’re growing so quickly, it seems like only yesterday that they were both squalling infants.”

“Aye my love, time has flown by soon enough both our boys will be men grown with wives and children of their own. And Lyanna and Benjen will be there in the training yard, causing havoc for all to see.” Arya said winding her arms round his chest.

Rickard huffed then. “Where are Lyanna and Benjen? Please tell me that they are with Maester Walys now. They have been skipping lessons as of late and that needs to change if they are to be knowledgeable of the outside world.”

“They are only five and four my love. They have plenty of time left to learn about the world and all its troubles and joys. Let them enjoy the summer now.” Arya said.

“They are Starks of Winterfell, and they must be ready for when winter comes. For summer will not last forever, and the winter that comes soon shall be a long and harsh one.” Rickard replied, saying the words he had often heard his father say in his youth.

His wife laughed softly then, resting her head on his shoulder. “You Starks and Winter, this summer has lasted a long time, Maester Walys believes that this might very well be the long summer all those accounts in the old tales speak of. And besides we could all do with a little light and joy in our lives, especially with Bolton and Hornwood being so painful. Have they reached a decision yet?”

Rickard sighed. “As of yet the decision that was made the last time I met with the both of them still stands. Hopefully this time Bolton will recognise that the battle he has chosen to fight, is not one he can win. Rodwell Hornwood is not one to back down from a fight, and the woodland does actually belong to him and has done since the time of the Andal invasion.”

“Why then does Bolton continue to insist that the woodland belongs to his house?” his wife asked.

Rickard sighed and replied. “Some business with a villager there, it seems that she has borne him a bastard, and as Bolton currently has no heirs of his own yet, it appears that he might need to keep an eye on this bastard. At least that is what Maester Walys tells me. Whether that is true or not, Bolton has not said nor do I mean to ask him.”

His wife laughed then. “Roose Bolton with a bastard? That sounds just as plausible as the White Walkers coming back from the dead, or Giants walking the realms of men.”

Rickard tensed slightly, but then said. “Aye, but I will not ask Bolton about that. Whatever he does in his own time is his business, however, if he continues to push the issue I shall need to tell him where things stand and remind of some facts.”

There was a loud shout from the yard and Rickard saw that Eddard had managed to disarm Brandon, a rare smile breaking out over his second son’s usually solemn face. “Are you still thinking about sending them out to foster my love?” his wife asked.

Rickard sighed once more. This had been a sticking point between he and his wife, Rickard wished to foster his two eldest sons out to build better relationships with the south, whilst his wife was not willing to let either of their sons go. “Yes my love. And for the reasons I have already voiced to you. It will do us no good to remain isolated from the rest of the kingdoms. We already have the loyalty of our bannermen, but we must build connections in the south. My father might have been hand, but he had a reputation about him that has cast our house into a questionable light. I mean to change that.”

“But why send Brandon to King’s Landing my love? Surely it would be better for him to foster here in the north, to better know his future bannermen?” Arya asked.

“The King’s heir is of an age with Brandon, it would do for us to have Brandon become friends with the boy. We can never be too close to the throne in terms of friendship. Besides with Tywin Lannister as hand, the north might be forgotten by the King, now that my father is not there breathing down the Targaryens necks. We must remind them of our needs and wants, and Brandon is the best chance of that happening.” Rickard replied.

He could tell his wife was not entirely happy about that, but she said nothing in response to that and so they spent a little while longer simply looking out of the window as their two eldest sons continued to batter each other with their wooden swords. One day he would need to make sure that they trained with live steel, and that day would come soon enough, for winter was coming, he could feel it in his bones.

A knock on the door brought him and his wife apart, and as Rickard called for whomever it was to come in, he found himself looking at Maester Walys. The maester had come to Winterfell twenty years ago, following the death of Maester Borros. The man was capable and had given Rickard and his mother wise counsel whilst father had been in the south. It was he who had suggested that perhaps it might be a smart idea to send his two eldest sons to the south to remove the image of barbarity that plagued House Stark in the south. “Maester Walys, what can I do for you?” Rickard asked. “Have Lyanna and Benjen been behaving?”

“Yes my lord they have been behaving very well. No that is not the reason why I have come. There has been a raven from the Dreadfort, writ in Lord Bolton’s own hand.”

Rickard perks up at that and sticks his hand out for the letter. The maester hands it to him and as he reads it, he feels a great deal of relief wash over him, it seems good sense has finally hit Roose Bolton and his claim over the woodlands has been rescinded, and then there comes another piece of news that goes onto relieve him. “What is in the letter my love?” Arya asks.

“Roose Bolton has decided to rescind his claim over the woodland, and has apologised both to myself and to Lord Hornwood for keeping that nuisance going for so long. He also says that his wife Bethany is with child, and that this time the maester believes that she will carry to term.” Rickard replied.

“That is good news my love.” Arya says.

“There is more news as well my lord.” Maester Walys says. “A raven has come from King’s Landing.”

Rickard takes the letter and reads it over. “The king has asked that Brandon be sent south in a moon’s time, and that he will be joined by Garth Hightower and Lewyn Dayne.”

Rickard sees his wife nod, though her eyes harden at the thought of seeing their firstborn off so soon. He says his thanks to the maester and then spends the next two weeks planning for his eldest son and heir’s departure. The day before both his sons is due to travel south he calls them into his solar and sits them down and speaks with then. “My boys, you are both heading south tomorrow. Brandon for the capital and Ned for the Eyrie. I know you are both nervous and excited about the new journey you are about to embark on, but before you leave, I would like to remind you that you are both going to be representing our house in the south, and that I expect you act with nothing but honour and dignity whilst there. I do not want to hear anything bad said about House Stark whilst you are in the south is that understood?” Both boys nod and then Rickard sends them off to bed.

The farewells the next day are emotional for his sons and their siblings, with Lyanna clinging to Ned in particular asking why they have to go. His wife holds Lyanna and though she herself is crying slightly she answers with the reasons that a five year old could understand. Rickard bids farewell to his sons, a lump in his throat, knowing that this is just one part of his plan to increase House Stark’s presence in the south, he knows both his sons will do him proud.


	34. The Lion Hand

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

King’s Landing was humid, in the grips of summer and the heat was nigh on unbearable. The members of the court sweated and panted their way through the days, and it was only the royal family who seemed immune to the heat, walking around as if they felt nothing more than a cool breeze on their backs and skin. Tywin often wondered that, his grandmother had been a dragon and yet, here he was sweating his skin of with the rest of the court it often made him wonder, was there truly any truth the rumours he had heard as a child. That was at least part of the reason why he had been so keen to see his children wed into the royal family. Jaime had been betrothed his friend’s daughter Princess Rhaena two moons ago, and though both children were both still young, it was obvious that they were very fascinated with one another. He’d brought Jaime with him to court when his son had turned six, and his son had quickly struck up a friendship with the crown prince Aemon as well as the boy’s two younger brothers Viserys and Baelon.

Whilst the betrothal of his heir to a princess of the blood was a huge thing for him, Tywin wished for his daughter to one day be queen, he wanted what any sane man wanted, to be grandfather to the next king. And whilst there had already been plenty of offers streaming in from across the kingdoms, he knew that his own suit would be viewed in a slightly more favourable light, he was after all hand and best friends with the king. Aegyl, did however, seem slightly less willing to see his heir betrothed too soon, which was understandable, after all his eldest son’s marriage would determine the course of the kingdoms for years to come, not a matter to be taken lightly.

In the five years that he had served as hand so far, the peace which the king’s grandfather had worked so hard to bring about had continued and seemed to be prospering. There were no threats of war, no rebellious lords, trade was booming both within Westeros and with the outside world. It seemed as if the time of harmony and peace and plenty was upon them. The singers certainly made it seem that way. There had been a tourney held within two moons of the king being crowned, to celebrate the dawning of a new era, the era of peace. Lords, knights and their hangers on had come from across the kingdoms to compete, the prizes had been huge amount of gold, some of which had made Tywin’s own eyes widen. 500,000 dragons for the winner of the jousting, 200.000 dragons for the winner of the melee, and 100,000 dragons for the winner of the archer competition. Tywin asked his friend where they would get the money for this, and Aegyl had replied in that off hand manner of his that, the royal coffers were over flowing with money and some of it needed to be spent. The winner of the jousting if Tywin remembered correctly had been Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard known as the White Wolf. Other tourneys had been held since then, at Highgarden where fat old Luthor Tyrell had thrown a tourney; Ser Brandon had won there as well, as he had at the tourney of Storm’s End.

Though there was peace in the realm, the game was still being played and as such Aegyl had asked for the lords Brandon Stark, Elbert Arryn and Garth Hightower to be fostered in King’s Landing so that his son and heir Aemon might get to know some of those who he would soon rule with. It was also a way for the crown to ensure the complete loyalty of the relevant houses. For though the crown had ties with the Starks and the Arryns through marriage, the distance between them and the capital often meant that they grew isolated from court affairs.  From what he had seen of the Prince and his companions, of which Jaime was one, it seemed to have been a smart move by the king. Brandon Stark was wild, a wilful lad and strong headed though fiercely loyal to the prince, Garth Hightower was quiet and brooding, whilst Elbert Arryn was the middle of the two others, and Jaime, Tywin had seen the reckless abandon of his own son, and whilst he knew that eventually he would have to curtail that side of his son, for now he was more than happy to let it be. His son was only nine after all.

Other news had come to him from the Westerlands which Joanna ruled ably and well in his stead. Tygett had become a father once more, his wife the king’s own aunt had borne him four children so far, two sons and two girls. Tyrek, Lucion, Darlessa and Myrcella. His brother seemed to have become a happier man since his marriage, according to Joanna Tygett no longer scowled so much, nor did he seem so perpetually angry either. Gerion had also wedded and bedded his own Westerling bride, and the woman had borne him two sons so far, Tommem and Sevron were their names. Living in the rebuilt and refurbished and much nicer Crag, Joanna wrote that Gerion had the people of the crag eating out of his hands. An unsurprising thing, considering Gerion had always been one to turn the charm on when it mattered to him.

The only one of his brothers, not yet married was Kevan, Tywin knew his brother had been in love with Sylvia Crakehall but she had been killed in a riding accident some two years past, and as such his brother had not seen fit to wed. Tywin had not wished to push anyone on his brother since then, not wanting to rub salt in the wound, for he knew how he would feel if someone were to suggest such a thing to him should gods forbid Joanna die. No he had decided to let his brother be for the time being, when it was right he would bring it up again.

Of his own direct family. Tywin knew that Cersei continued to grow into a fine young lady, Joanna wrote that their daughter would soon grow to become even lovelier than she had ever been. Tywin was not sure what to make of that, though he knew that he wanted Prince Aemon to think the same. He also knew that his wife had birthed him another son, he had been there for the birth. Joanna had laboured for nearly a whole day trying to bring their second son into the world. When the child had eventually come, it had been a boy, who had been born very short. Maester Geribald had said the child would never grow as tall as normal people would and that his growth would stop at a particular height. And whilst that jarred at his pride a little, Tywin did not really care, his wife and child both lived and he had another son. They had decided to give this son of theirs a traditional Lannister name, Tyrion he had been called.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Ser Barristan Selmy standing in the doorway, when the knight saw him looking at him he said. “My lord hand, the king requests your presence in the small council chamber.”

Tywin nodded and walked with the white knight to the council chamber, where he found the king already seated along with Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower and his cousin Prince Aerys. Aerys was a strange one, someone who lusted after something that was not his, a dangerous man if incompetent. They were soon joined by the other members of the council, Grand Maester Pycelle his chain clinking as he walked, Prince Maron Martell the master of whispers a cunning man and sly, master of coin Ser Benjen Rykker a capable man who had replaced the late Allem Dayne, master of ships and the Queen’s brother Victarion Greyjoy a simple man. Once they were all seated the king spoke then his voice strong and commanding. “My lords I thank you all for coming. There are two main issues we must discuss. The first is concerning the issue of the Darklyns and their demands. The second is the Royal Fleet.”

Grand Maester Pycelle took up the tale. “A raven came from Duskendale this morning, writ in Lord Denys Darklyn’s hand. The man asks for more rights for himself and those of his people, he asks for a charter of his people and a clear definition of what his citizens rights are.”

Benjen Rykker spoke then. “Darklyn has been grasping for more power since the days it became common knowledge King Brynden was ill. How do we know that his demands for a new town charter and clearer rights for his citizens is not just a ploy to gain more power for himself?”

Victarion Greyjoy voiced his agreement. “Aye this Darklyn lord seems ambitious too ambitious by half if you ask me, from some of the demands he has been making as of late.”

Tywin spoke then. “Has Lord Darklyn actually specified what he wants as part of this new charter or is he just making an open ended demand once more?”

Pycelle looked at the letter once more before saying. “No my lord, he makes no mention of what he would like to include in this new charter. It seems to be an open ended demand once more.”

“Then I would not give into his demand Your Grace,” Tywin says. “Doing so would only make you look weak in front of your other lords and give them the impression that you are an easy person to pushover.”

The king was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “Maron, what do your sources tell you about the Lord and what he plans on doing?”

The master of whispers is silent and then says. “As of now nothing, my sources have been quiet on this issue. To me it seems as if this is a genuine demand, though the fact that he does not state what he wants in the charter does make me curious. I agree with Lord Tywin Your Grace, accepting this demand would make you look weak.”

Prince Aerys speaks then. “The dragon should not take any demands from anyone else. They are inferior to the throne Your Grace. Perhaps it is time that Lord Darklyn was reminded of this with steel and fire.”

“I will not bring war to the kingdom where none is necessary. Pycelle I want a letter sent to Duskendale asking this man what he wants in precise terms, tell him I will not accept another vague letter of demands. If he wants something, he asks, not demands, I am not his servant. Maron have your sources find out all you can about what happens in the man’s court, I will not deal with him blind.” The king says. And then turns the attention of the council onto something else. “Now Victarion how goes the building of the new ships for the royal fleet?”

The master of ships was silent for a long moment before he said. “It goes well Your Grace. Twenty of the war galleys you asked for are ready for use. The final twenty shall be done within the next few weeks master Mott assures me. Soon enough the Royal Fleet will be in fighting fit shape once more.”

The king nods and then asks. “Maron has there been any word on where Lord Mantarys Velaryon has gotten to? He does not reply to ravens sent to the Driftmark, and my mother writes that he has not come by Dragonstone.”

“My sources have been quiet on him Your Grace. It is possible that he got lost along the way whilst trying to sail to Valyria, we all know how dangerous such a path is.” Maron replied.

What was it with these Valyrians their desire to get some of their old history back, it would be the death of them just as surely as the dragons had nearly proven to be. Tywin thought. The council meeting was then brought to a close and Tywin walked back to his chambers, leaving the king and his cousin deep in discussion about some matter or the other. The next few weeks and even moons seemed to fly by, there was much work that was done, peace was hard work to maintain, there were minor squabbles that needed to be resolved and other such issues.

Tywin returned to the Rock briefly for a few weeks bringing Jaime along with him, there he shut off completely from the world and spent his time with his wife and children. Listening to the tales Cersei told him about what she had gotten up to, and watching his son Tyrion walk about and babble some incoherent words. He basked in the comfort and relaxation that being with Joanna allowed him as well, relishing the feeling of not being alone once more. One night towards the end of his stay, he brought up his thoughts on possible marriage options for Cersei. “My love,” he said holding Joanna in his arms. “I know you and the Princes of Dorne have often talked about wedding our children to one another, but with Jaime betrothed to Princess Rhaena, and Prince Doran already married, perhaps the time has come to consider other options?”

“Oh?” his wife asked turning round to face him. “And who pray tell were you thinking of wedding our daughter to if not one of our friends children?”

Tywin hesitates for a moment and then says. “Prince Aemon my love. Think about it for a moment, our daughter would be the future queen of Westeros and our grandson would sit the throne.”

He had expected many things from his wife but for her to laugh is one reaction he had honestly not expected. “My love our daughter is but nine years old, and whilst Jamie is already betrothed do you not think it is a bit early to consider selling our daughter off to the highest bidder, even if he is your friend. Has the king given his seal of approval for this match?” Tywin hesitated and Joanna laughed once more. “So you have not even asked him yet. Tread carefully Tywin, the King is proud and stubborn he might not want to have two of his children wed to the same family and raise suspicions amongst his other lords.”

Tywin is silent for he knows his wife is right. The next day a feast is thrown for all of his siblings have decided to come to the Rock for one last time before he departs along with Jaime for the capital. There is much merriment, the Lannisters are united once more and Genna and her husband Prince Aelix Targaryen and their children, Aenar, Aerion and Aegon all take part in the festivities. Tywin himself sits at the high table watching everything with a keen eye wondering if all will be well tonight. At one point he finds himself speaking with his goodbrother. Prince Aelix had the classical Targaryen features, silver hair and purple eyes, with a broader build than his nephew and a much more confident air about him. “Ah Lord Tywin,” The prince began. “I trust the capital has treated you well? How are my nephews doing?”

“Well my prince. The king rules well and Prince Aerys provides good council.” Tywin says cautiously, the man might be his goodbrother but he is also a Targaryen and Tywin has learnt to tread carefully around them.

The Prince snorts. “Aye I know Aegyl would. Have you not seen Princess Rhaella since your time at court started?”

“No My prince I have not.” Tywin replied, it was true the princess and her son Prince Rhaegar spent their time in Summerhall and never came to King’s Landing to avoid Aerys, Aegyl had told him.

The prince shakes his head in sadness then. “Ah mores’ the pity. I did always wonder why my father sought to wed them to one another. But then that is not a problem for you is it? No, my lord hand just keeps an eye on my nephew for me. He can be very unpredictable.”

Those words continue to echo inside Tywin’s head as he returns to King’s Landing and is told that the Darklyns are refusing to pay their taxes, and that Aerys is calling for banners, whilst the king remains silent on the matter. 


	35. Salt and Rock

**Queen Alyssa Targaryen**

It was a strange feeling being queen, Alyssa thought. The Greenlanders were more willing to listen to her now than they had been when she was simply a princess, they bowed and curtseyed and took everything she said at face value and batted not an eye lid when she made some deliberately awkward demand of them. It was equal parts pleasant and aggravating, on the one hand she liked not being looked down upon as much as she had been when her husband had just been Prince of Dragonstone, and that because she now wore a crown on her head these fools actually took her seriously. On the other hand, it was aggravating because if she were being honest with herself Alyssa quite enjoyed the struggle of making people think more of her, she had always liked a challenge, and that had been her greatest one and yet she had won it without really having to fight all that hard.

Of course being Queen meant that she had to have ladies in waiting, she had quite clearly told her husband that she did not want nor did she need ladies in waiting, from what she had seen they had all been simpering idiots those ladies that came to court, with not a proper thought in their head. Her husband though, sweet Aegyl had insisted that she have ladies in waiting if only to provide her with some actual female company beyond his mother, for her husband wished to strengthen his hold on the throne and create a new identity for himself that was not completely reliant on his grandfather’s legend. It was a strange feeling having ladies waiting on her every whim, people to speak to when Aegyl was busy with the council, or when she simply tired of court. Some of the women such as Genna Lannister did actually give her interesting conversation, whilst others such as Lady Melena Rosby were the actual simpering fools that she had heard so much about growing up.

Alyssa’s goodmother though was not one of these simpering fools, Princess Rhaenys otherwise known amongst the nobles and the smallfolk as the Queen Who Never Was, was a very smart and shrewd woman, who knew how the game of thrones, the game that flew right past Alyssa’s head was played. Alyssa had learnt a lot from watching her goodmother walk around the court speaking with the various nobles and ladies, charming them with her wit and her words. After one feast, Alyssa had asked her goodmother how she knew the exact words to say to each and every person all the time, and her goodmother had laughed and said softly. “I have lived at court my whole life sweetling. I know what sort of fools these people are, it is merely a case of observing what makes them tick.” And so Alyssa had watched and she had learnt a great deal about the lords and their ladies.

She had been sad when her goodmother had decided to retire to Dragonstone, stating that she did not wish to be a burden to her son, nor Alyssa herself, she took a small guard and kept a small household and ran her intrigues from Dragonstone. Alyssa kept in contact with her, occasionally asking her advice on some small matter or the other, and often receiving a detailed and informed response, that had deeply helped her in improving her standing in court, and removing the image of her being a simple savage.

It also seemed as if her husband had learnt a few things from his mother as well. The Darklyns had been causing some amount of trouble demanding a new charter for the town of Duskendale and some form of codified rights for their people, though Lord Denys had not specified what sort of things were to be included in both. Her husband had written to the man and told him that unless he knew the specifics of what was wanted he would do nothing to change the way things were done in Duskendale. Lord Denys had written back demanding an audience with the king, her husband had refused stating that he could ask but not demand, and the war of words had gone backwards and forwards for a few moons, until her husband finally managed to get Darklyn to back down. Her husband had sent Lord Darklyn the head of a man bearing the arms of Duskendale who had tried to break into the royal bank, the criminal’s mouth stuffed with Myrish Lace, as a warning for Lord Denys and his Myrish wife. Since then no word of complaint had been heard from Duskendale, it seemed they had gotten the message.

Alyssa had been glad for that, for she had worried for a time that it might have come to blows, and whilst she knew her husband to be a capable warrior, she did not want to have to send him off to war. She had found that she loved her husband, naive though he was in some things, she loved him fiercely, and never wanted him to leave her side from this mortal world before their times came in old age. She loved their children just as fiercely, bold and brash Aemon their eldest, quiet and contemplative Viserys, and his twin loud Baelon, her little girl the jewel of the court Rhaena who was all fire, and their youngest son Lucerys who seemed to be much like Alyssa herself than Aegyl especially in terms of his appearance, their youngest was black of hair and brown of eyes, whilst all their children apart from Aemon had the Targaryen looks, Aemon had black hair with silver streaks going through it and had his father’s purple eyes.

Her eldest son had developed a close rapport with the three boys that had been sent to foster in King’s Landing, Brandon Stark, Elbert Arryn and Garth Hightower two of the boys were heirs to old and proud houses, and all four of them had gotten up to all kinds of mischief over the years. Causing Alyssa and Aegyl no end of headaches and amusement with their antics and pranks. Her son was deeply happy though and that was what mattered to her, all of her children were, and why not this was a time of peace, the long summer.

As if to celebrate the good times and tidings that the realm was experiencing Hand of the King Tywin Lannister had thrown a tourney at Lannisport the seat of his brother Tygett and invited the king and half the realm to attend. Alyssa suspected that over the week that the tourney was being held the hand of the king meant to bring up an important matter with her husband, regarding their children, and she was weary of it. Tywin was a good man, but he was ambitious and that ambition could be their undoing unless they were very careful.

The tourney involved jousting and a melee, the melee had been won by her husband’s uncle Prince Maekar, wielding a mace like his namesake the rogue had come and defeated all those who had stood in his path. Her husband’s uncle was by far her favourite male member of House Targaryen, apart from Aegyl of course, Maekar was charming and handsome and he was full of wit and dry humour all that was lacking in Aerys, the other Targaryen male she had actually spoken to. Her husband’s cousin had deigned not to attend the tourney perhaps still hurting over some slight or imagined insult, the man had become quite good at such things.

The jousting was to be held over the next few days, and had begun with a joust between Prince Rhaegar, new to knighthood and Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. The pair had broken five lances against one another before Rhaegar had unhorsed Ser Arthur, Alyssa’s son had let out a groan then, for Aemon idolized the sword of the morning just as much as her Viserys idolized Rhaegar. The next joust Rhaegar had competed in had been against his friend Ser Jon Connington, also new to knighthood, the pair had broken three lances against one another before Ser Jon had been unhorsed. Rhaegar had then moved onto face Tygett Lannister the Lord of Lannisport, and that had been a competition that had had all on the edge of their seats. Eight lances had been broken by both men before Rhaegar eventually unhorsed Tygett, earning a cheer from one part of the crowd and a sigh from the other half.

Of the other competitors, there were some interesting jousts. Ser Gerold Hightower Lord Commander of the Kingsguard broke five lances against Ser Gerion Lannister before unhorsing Lannister. Hightower was later unhorsed by Ser Baelor Hightower the young heir of Oldtown in the semi finals. Ser Brandon Stark also of the Kingsguard pushed past almost all those who came before him before meeting an interesting foe in the final round before the semi finals. Lord Hoster Tully, a war hero from the last Blackfyre war and with two daughters and a son and new to widowhood the man was dressed in black and yet both men broke twelve lances against one another before Ser Brandon managed to get a luck stroke and unhorse Lord Hoster.

The semi finals were to be held on the morrow for now though Alyssa had retired to her and her husband’s tent and was awaiting his company. For now though she was content to allow Tysha her handmaiden to unbraid her hair and have some idle conversation with her. “What did you make of the jousting today Tysha?” Alyssa asked.

“It was good my lady,” her handmaiden replied. “Prince Rhaegar jousted very well. And he looked very nice in his armour.” The girl tittered then.

Alyssa smiled slightly at the girl, all the young girls seemed to be entranced by Rhaegar, if truth be told Alyssa herself was slightly surprised the boy had decided to venture forth from Summerhall for the event, as far as she knew he had never left the place of his birth other than when he had squired for his uncle Prince Aelix. Still, “Perhaps he will crown you Queen of Love and Beauty Tysha.” Alyssa said playfully.

Her handmaiden blushed then. “Oh that would be sweet Your Grace. But I do not think he will, no Prince Rhaegar does not seem interested in much of women.” And then almost as if she had spoken too much the woman covered her mouth and said. “Forgive me Your Grace, I have spoken out of turn.”

“Oh hush now Tysha. No one else is hear you, only me and I won’t tell anyone what we discuss here. Now tell me what you mean.” Alyssa said soothingly.

The girl blushed once more but then spoke all in a rush. “I’ve heard some of the men at arms who came with Prince Rhaegar speaking of how his sudden interest in arms just appeared out of nowhere one day and now he is so dedicated to becoming a knight that he hardly does anything else. They are all wondering what caused the change in their prince Your Grace.”

Alyssa was silent for a moment considering what the girl had said, she had heard those same rumours as well, Prince Rhaegar had been very bookish as a child something that had earnt him the disdain of his father until one day he had demanded his uncle take him on as a squire and train him in the arts of war, when asked why, he had not replied with anything other than it was his duty. Still the girl did not need to know that aloud she merely said. “Well I am sure Rhaegar had his reasons, any way it is not like he will not pay attention to you my girl. You are rather beautiful after all.”

A slight rustling at the entrance to the tent caused the girl to stop and for Alyssa to turn round. She saw her husband standing in the entrance, his hair dishevelled and his eyes hard. “Leave us.” He said to Tysha, the girl bowed low and then scurried out of the tent. Aegyl came to stand behind her, his hands playing with her hair.

“Is aught amiss my love?” Alyssa asked.

Her husband was silent for a long time before he finally spoke his hands stilled in her hair. “Tywin approached me about betrothing Aemon to his daughter Cersei.” Alyssa was silent, she had been expecting this for a long time, and she was not sure why her husband would look so distressed about it though, if anything she had though he would be keen to agree to the option. Still she waited for her husband to speak and after a long moment he did. “I refused.”

Now that did shock her. “Why?” Alyssa asked.

Alyssa turns round then so that she is facing her husband and the look of absolute pain on his face worries her. His voice is laced with sadness when he says. “Because of something Aemon said to us about Cersei.”

“What did Aemon say?” Alyssa asked, wondering what their eldest could have said that would sway her husband from the path he had been on.

Aegyl takes her hands in his then and looks right at her when he replies. “He told me that after the jousting ended he was walking around Lannisport with Viserys and Elbert Arryn, Ser Jonothor was with them, and they came across Cersei Lannister and her friends near a well. Not wanting to disturb the girls at their play, the boys moved on but Aemon remained where he was with Ser Jonothor standing guard, Aemon told me that he saw Cersei push one of her friends down that well.” Alyssa is shocked.

“Perhaps Aemon saw wrong? He is a child after all.” Alyssa says.

“He did not my love. Ser Jonothor confirmed our son’s story in front of Tywin and myself.” Aegyl said his voice laced with sadness.

“Then you did the right thing in refusing the offer my love. It would do no good to have our son and the future of the kingdoms tied to a girl who kills her own friends. What did the Lannister girl have to say about the whole matter?” Alyssa asks.

“She denied it most fiercely when brought before us. Claiming that Aemon was lying and that the girl she pushed had actually fallen down the well. Still she was ranting and raving by that point, cursing us and our son. Tywin agreed to not go through with the betrothal.” Aegyl replies.

“Then that is good is it not? At least Tywin is not blind to the true nature of his daughter now.” Alyssa stated.

Her husband was silent but she could feel the sorrow running through him at the thought that his friend’s daughter was most likely a mad woman, Alyssa was merely grateful her son had escaped the girl and the hell that would have been his fate.


	36. The Lion's Wrath

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

The tourney of Lannisport had come to an end earlier that day, with the jousting finally completed and a winner declared. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen seventeen and new to knighthood had gone up against Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard, and in what had been a very interesting and fascinating joust had broke fifteen lances against the white wolf only to manage to knock the White Wolf from his stirrups on the sixteenth tilt, earning the roars of the crowd and their cheers. Prince Rhaegar had crowned Tywin’s own daughter Cersei Queen of Love and Beauty, Tywin found it interesting that the Prince who all knew had been very bookish as a child was suddenly so interested in weaponry and often found himself wondering what had caused the change in the boy.

However, just now was not the time to spend wondering about the intricacies of the heir to Summerhall. No, in just a few short hours Tywin and his wife and children would be heading to the Great Hall of Casterly Rock for the closing feast of the tourney, which if he did say so himself had been one of the biggest and best tourneys the seven kingdoms had seen in a very long time. Lords and knights and their retainers had come from all parts of the kingdoms, as had the King and the Royal Family. In fact Tywin had hoped that by the time the feast rolled around there would another reason to celebrate, for he had hoped that the king and his best friend Aegyl Targaryen would agree to a betrothal between Prince Aemon the heir to the throne and Tywin’s own daughter Cersei. However, because of his daughter’s foolishness and being caught in that foolishness the betrothal was no longer an option, and now Tywin meant to speak with her about it.

The door to his solar opened and in walked his wife and his daughter. Joanna seemed tense, whilst Cersei seemed scared. Just looking at his daughter, Tywin could feel the anger building up inside him. “Sit down Cersei.” He said calmly.

“Father I,” his daughter began.

“Sit down Cersei and do not speak until I ask you to.” Tywin replied brusquely, his anger growing by the minute. Cersei sat down and then Tywin spoke once more. “Do you know why I have asked you here now, before the feast Cersei?”

“Is it because of the lies that Prince Aemon told you and the king father?” Cersei asked timidly.

Tywin felt his anger grow then. “Lies? You call the prince a liar when there was another witness to you folly?”

“Yes father!” Cersei said hotly. “Of course I do father, Ser Jonothor is nothing more than Prince Aemon’s thug, of course he’s going to agree with whatever rubbish the prince says.”

“So explain to me where the girl is now then Cersei?” Tywin said his voice calm though his anger was growing.

At that Cersei began to stumble and fumble for words. “It wasn’t my fault father. She was near the well and she fell in. I did not push her in father I swear, why would I? Melara was one of my friends.”

Tywin merely looked at his daughter, “I do not care what happened to the girl nor whether you pushed her in to that godsforsaken well. No I care more about the fact that you were careless enough to be caught in the open doing whatever it was you were doing. Do you not see how badly you have damaged the family name now with your foolishness?”

“Father, I..... I never meant do anything that would harm the family. I swear to you father!” Cersei said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

Tywin though was unconvinced his anger was growing by the second, whether because of the failure of the betrothal or because of the lies he was convinced his daughter was telling him he knew not. “I do not believe you Cersei. You have put our family name into disrepute with your foolish actions whatever they were. I had meant to ask the King that he accept your betrothal to Prince Aemon, but now the king will never agree to such a match, and if I am be quite frank I cannot blame him. If I were him, I would not wish to betroth my son and heir to a girl who could be so stupid as to get caught killing someone. You disappoint me Cersei, you are not a Reyne, you are meant to have more sense than that.”

His daughter began mumbling then her words becoming choked behind her tears and her fear. “I.... I hate you father!” she eventually screamed. “I want to be queen, but not to Aemon Targaryen! The boy is a liar and a cheat, and he is nowhere near as nice Prince Rhaegar. I want to marry Rhaegar and be his queen not stupid Prince Aemon’s!”

At that Tywin lost his patience and stood up to his full height and walked towards Cersei towering over her, he yanked her to her feet and hit her square in the face with enough strength to leave a mark on her face and to cause some blood to run from her nose. “Enough!” he roared. “I will not have my children spew such nonsense, you have been raised better. Aemon Targaryen will be king one day not that idiot Rhaegar. It is time you grew up and stopped living in a dream Cersei. And never speak such treason again, or I will personally make you life hell.”

“Tywin, enough.” Joanna said suddenly pulling Cersei out of the iron grip he had had her in. “You have said your piece, enough now. Let Cersei go, we can deal with this all later on. I will see that Cersei is ready for the feast.”

Tywin nodded and let his daughter leave the solar with her mother, and once the door closed he poured himself a glass of wine and sat down in the lord’s chair and stared numbly at his desk. What had his daughter become, why had she done what she had done, gods above what would this do to his relationship with the king and the future king, was his family to be cursed with fools until he died?

A few hours later and Tywin found himself seated in the Great Hall at the High table along with the royal family and his own family. It seemed Joanna had done a good job at masking the bruise he had given Cersei, and though each time he looked at his daughter he felt some guilt at what he had done, he knew that she would never learn unless taught a sharp lesson, and hopefully that had been done now. The feast went rather well there was much cheering and toasting amongst the lords and ladies present, toasts were made, the King himself got up to toast their friendship and the friendship between the kingdoms. At the end of it all, Tywin found himself in his chambers in bed with his wife, the castle was relatively quiet now, the royal family would be departing tomorrow morning and Tywin would join them in a few days time. “It had to be done my love.” Tywin said to break the silence, Joanna continued reading a letter from her brother as if she had not heard him. “What Cersei had done could damage the way our house is viewed. I will not see all my hard work put to ash because of the folly of a ten year old girl.”

At that Joanna stops reading her letter and looks at him with a fierce glint in her eyes. “She is just a girl Tywin. Yes what she did was horrific, but you did not need to scare her so. She is terrified of you now, and she is terrified that you will leave her completely alone now.”

Tywin was unmoved by that. “A bit of fear never hurt anyone. Cersei must learn to stop her childish fantasies, wanting to wed Rhaegar Targaryen will give her nothing, marrying Prince Aemon would give her everything she deserves.”

“Prince Aemon is but a boy still Ty, there will be time enough for that to still happen. For now surely it is best that Cersei continue to enjoy her childhood and not live in constant fear.” Joanna said reproachfully.

Tywin merely snorted but said nothing, and so when he left for the capital two days later joining up with the royal party on the Kingsroad, Jaime accompanying him the issue was still not resolved and Cersei remained confined to her rooms. It was business as usual when they returned to King’s Landing, Jaime began squiring for Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, Tywin himself continued helping to rule the kingdoms, and council business was peaceful and fairly mundane. Until one day a raven came from Duskendale and the whole can of worms that they had all thought closed opened up once more.

“Darklyn demands too much Your Grace. He once more does not specify what he wants from these demands. I say that we put him to the sword.” Prince Aerys said.

Tywin heard his friend sigh in exasperation. “I cannot do that without just cause Aerys, otherwise half the realm would be in uproar. No I say we give no other choice to Darklyn, we tell him that he must come to court himself to make these demands, or we shall never consider his pleas ever again.”

“That would be the wisest course of action except that Lord Darklyn has been holding back on the taxes he owes to the crown. Has been doing so for the past two moons, it seems that this letter is simply a ruse.” Master of coin Ser Benjen Rykker said.

The King was silent for a long moment before asking. “How much do they owe the throne in taxes and incomes?”

Ser Benjen Rykker swallowed nervously. “600,000 dragons Your Grace. The trade being brought into Duskendale has increased significantly in recent times.”

“600,000 dragons? And what are the Darklyns doing with this money?” Tywin asked then breaking his silence.

It was Victarion Greyjoy who spoke then. “Build ships my lord hand. My men have reported that some of their colleagues have been contracted to build galleys, with this money.”

“And you gave them leave to do so?” Tywin asked incredulously.

“No my lord hand. These requests have been done under wraps, its only that Darklyn was foolish enough to get one of my men onto his ships as the lead builder.” Greyjoy replied.

The king spoke then, his voice iron and commanding. “Pycelle send a raven to Duskendale, tell Lord Darklyn that unless he starts paying his taxes to the crown starting with the 600,000 dragons he owes the throne, he will never get whatever he wants from us. And we might even start taking hostages from him.”

The raven was sent and for two moons they heard nothing from Duskendale and whenever the council met Ser Benjen Rykker would report that the amount owed to the crown continued to grow, and then one day Tywin was with the King discussing some matter of Dragonstone, when Pycelle came bustling in followed by Prince Aerys. “A letter from Duskendale Your Grace.”

The king took the letter and read it once and then twice and then a third time before swearing out loud. “What has happened Your Grace?” Tywin asked carefully.

The king turned to him then a fire in his eyes. “The fools of Darklyn have taken Prince Aelix’s son a hostage as he was making his way to the Riverlands. They are demanding a ransom for him and for the taxes to be ignored.”

“You cannot let this stand Your Grace!” Aerys said heatedly. “You must reply with force, they will not yield otherwise.”

The king looked at his cousin then and asked in a voice as cold as the ice on the wall. “And put our cousin’s life in danger? I do not think that would be the smartest move cousin.”

Aerys snorted then. “They would not dare harm him with a host at their front Your Grace. Give me the command if you don’t want the command or the blood on your hands, and I will bring you Darklyn’s head and see our cousin to safety.”

The king was silent for a moment before he sighed. “Very well go, but do not do anything of force until I give you command to do so. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth and their men will go with you.”

Prince Aerys set out with 1,000 men for Duskendale accompanied as well by Ser Harrold Grandison of the Kingsguard. There was no news from him about the state of affairs for some time, until about two moons after Aerys had left a raven came from Lord Darklyn, stating that Aerys had tried to storm the castle and as such had been captured, and that Ser Harold Grandison was dead slain by Ser Symon Hollard. Darklyn demand that if the King wished to see both his cousins safe and sound he would order his men to leave Duskendale and would grant the Darklyns a new charter and would ignore the outstanding debts that the crown was owed.

Another moon passed in which the council debated the best way to deal with the situation presented before them, the Darklyns had gone too far now all agreed by taking Aerys and Prince Aelix’s son hostage. Though whether a military threat would be the best way to get them to surrender was being questioned, Aegyl had ordered Lord Rosby to continue laying siege to Duskendale, and Victarion Greyjoy had the royal fleet blocking ships coming and going from the town. Eventually the king decided that he would march on the city and teach the Darklyns what it meant to mess with the dragon, except this time he called the banners of the crownlands, and Lords Celtigar, Massey, Velaryon, Bar Emmon, Hardy, Hayford, Staunton and Thorne all came bringing with them a combined total of some 6,000 men. Aegyl and Tywin left for Duskendale two weeks later leaving the small council and two knights of the Kingsguard behind to defend the royal family.

As they camped outside Duskendale, battle plans were discussed. “An envoy has been sent to the walls of the town yes?” The king asked. “Good so now we must wait for them to accept the terms.”

“What will we do if they do not accept the terms Your Grace?” Lord Aegon Celtigar asked.

Tywin saw his friend grimace. “Then we storm the walls and we put House Darklyn and their allies to the sword.”

“Is that necessary Your Grace? Surely a peaceful settlement can be found with a sword at Denys Darklyn’s throat or that of his whore of a wife?” Lord Bar Emmon asked.

Tywin saw the fire return to his friend’s eyes then. “They hold two princes of the blood, and you wish to discuss peace with that man. No if the man is fool enough to refuse the terms. He and his will die, and they will die painfully.”

There was a commotion outside the tent and then Ser Gerold Hightower walked in, his armour covered in mud and blood. “Your Grace, there has been word from Duskendale. The Darklyns have agreed to open the gates to talk terms.”

Tywin saw the king smile then, though he himself felt nervous. “Very well then, my lords until next time. Tywin walk with me.” The king was dressed in dark black armour, Tywin in dark red armour. Ser Gerold and Prince Aenar walked behind them protecting them both, they mounted their horses and rode close towards the gates of Duskendale. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

“Your Grace, I have a bad feeling of this.” Tywin said.

“We hold a peace banner Ty, the man has agreed to discuss terms what is there to be nervous about.” Aegyl said.

Tywin was about to reply, when the gates began to move, opening, he heard their whirring, and kept his attention on the sight of men mounted on horses as they became clearer in his vision. “Your Grace!” He heard Ser Gerold shout, before arrows were loosed from the walls of Duskendale, two managed to strike the king before they managed to get away. Tywin drew his sword and bellowed for the men to prepare for battle. Out of the gates of Duskendale came the armies of House Darklyn and Hollard, it had all been an elaborate trap.

Ser Barristan appeared by Tywin’s side. “My lord hand what would you wish of me?”

Tywin looked at the man briefly and then said. “When this battle happens, you are to sneak into the town and get Prince Aerys and Prince Aenar out of the Dun Fort kill whoever you have to make sure it happens.”

And with that the battle began, hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing, the men of Duskendale fought with reckless abandon clearly knowing that they would not last for long. Tywin bathed his sword in blood, and cut down more men then he probably had during Oxcross, still on and on it went until the last man was dead and the ground was littered with bodies. Ser Gerold rode up to him with Lord Denys Darklyn bound and gagged. “Where is the king?” Tywin asked.

Darklyn had the audacity to laugh. “Dead killed him myself. His uncle as well.”

Tywin looked at the lord commander of the Kingsguard who was covered in blood the man nodded his head grief in his eyes. Tywin looked at Lord Darklyn and in a voice laced with poison said. “You and your house are at an end Darklyn. Your Treason will cost you everything.”

And it did, on the last day of the eleventh month of the 276th year after Aegon’s Landing, in punishment for his crimes and those of his bannermen, Lord Denys Darklyn, his wife and children and brothers and cousins and those of House Hollard were all executed for treason. The wealth of Duskendale was taken and brought back to King’s Landing, and the Dun Fort was given to Ser Benjen Rykker who now became Lord Rykker. Prince Aerys and Prince Aenar were freed, but there was a bitter tinge to it all, for King Aegyl Targaryen was dead of his wounds at the age of only twenty seven. His son the boy Prince Aemon was now king, and more trouble would ensue. 


	37. Death to Dust

**A Maester’s interlude.**

Aegyl Targaryen, the fifteenth Targaryen King to sit the Iron Throne died in Duskendale trying to bring about an end to House Darklyn’s defiance. The King died from wounds taken during the battle, taking with him some twenty men before his wounds became too severe for him to continue fighting. Tywin Lannister, the hand of the king and King Aegyl’s childhood friend enacted his revenge on House Darklyn as every single member of that house be they the lord, the lady, the children, cousins, aunts or uncles were put to the sword, the same was done to their fellow belligerents House Hollard. Duskendale was given to House Rykker with Tywin Lannister as the hand giving them lordship status.

Ser Barristan Selmy was sent in to the Dun Fort whilst the fighting raged around him and managed to sneak out of the castle with both Prince Aerys and Prince Aenar, ending their months long captivity. The white knights of the Kingsguard bore two loses during that campaign, Ser Harrold Grandison who died defending Prince Aerys during the initial siege, and Prince Aenar Targaryen, King Brynden Targaryen’s son, who died fighting off men during his nephew’s storming of the castle. These two brave knights who died doing their duty to their king, were replaced by Ser Oswell Whent a fiercesome fighter, and Ser Arthur Dayne the new sword of the morning and one of the deadliest knights to roam the seven kingdoms it was said, the great, great grandnephew of Ser Oberyn Dayne and thrice as deadly.

For King Aegyl’s death had left a power vacuum in both the capital and the kingdoms, the lords waited to see who would fill this power vacuum, and as such waited to see who they would need to hang around with in order to have their own interests met. It soon became clear that there were two factions in court, those who wished for Prince Maekar to become Regent of the boy king Aemon, and those who wished for Prince Aerys to become regent for the boy king. Prince Maekar the youngest of King Brynden’s sons and his only surviving one, had always been known as a cutthroat and a rogue, spending as much time with pirates and corsairs as with knights and lords. The prince had been knighted at the age of fifteen by Lord Commander Ser Oberyn Dayne, and from the day of his knighthood until the day of his father’s death he had spent a great deal of time across the narrow sea fighting in sellsword companies and earning his stripes as a warrior in the Disputed Lands and in Yunkai and Slaver’s Bay. Many wished for him to become the regent because he was popular and well liked and the fact that along with Lord Tywin Lannister there would be security in the Targaryen regime, which would benefit all it was argued.

Others wanted Prince Aerys to become the regent, due to the fact that the Prince had spent time serving on his cousin’s council as master of laws and knew how the game of thrones was played, and as such was less likely to do something or say things that might insult or cause the lords of the kingdom grievance. Aerys Targaryen was seen as a noble man, and one who could be amiable to suggestion, those lords with ambition such as Lord Luthor Tyrell and Princess Arianne Martell wished to further their influence at court and get closer to the Iron Throne. In fact in the years that followed the struggle for the regency there would be rumours that the Martells had even wanted Rhaegar to become king, but that is something that will be dealt with much later. Unbeknownst to most Aerys had slowly fallen into madness following his yearlong captivity in Duskendale. The Prince saw shadows and enemies in every corner and had even begun to distrust his own wife and son, still above all else Aerys desired the power that he thought had been unjustly denied to him during both his uncle and his cousin’s reigns. Using his influence over the Gold Cloaks he began a steady process of removing any potential allies for Prince Maekar, these people’s bodies either turned up in the Blackwater or they completely disappeared.

Things eventually came to a head one day in the middle of 277 A.L. when Prince Maekar had gone to a brothel for some amusement, and ran into trouble with a group of men who seemed to have the look of Essos about them. Now Prince Maekar had made his fair share of enemies in Essos during his travels, and so it is not hard to imagine that perhaps Aerys had been in contact with them, still that is speculation. As such the hard facts are that, Prince Maekar and some of his own men got into a brawl with these Essosi men, the prince brought down four of the men before he was overwhelmed. He was brutally murdered by the men sent to hurt him. News of Prince Maekar’s death, caused panic and worry amongst those lords who had been his supporters driving them from the city, and causing the small folk to begin to brew trouble in the streets through preaching and other means.

However, Aerys power was not completely solid over King’s Landing, he had a hand on the regency but he wanted two on it. The only way he could do that was to remove King Aemon’s grandmother from the game, the trouble was that Princess Rhaenys known by some as the Queen Who Never Was, was far too clever to fall for some ploy or the other that Aerys might cook up, she was also too popular for any ambitious lord to have her bumped off on the sly, and so Aerys resorted to other fouler means. Bullying the maester at Summerhall to come to King’s Landing, Aerys had the man slip Tears of Lys into the Princess’ tea, and when the Princess drank her morning tea on the morning of the fifth day of the ninth month of the 277th year after Aegon’s Landing, she was found dead in her bed the next morning the poison had done its work. News of the Princess’s death caused Queen Alyssa to flee with her children to Dragonstone, though the King and Princess Rhaena were left behind, for Tywin Lannister had told the Queen that he would keep them safe and that Aerys would not get his claws into them. Rhaenys death though caused a much more violent atmosphere in the streets of King’s Landing. Riots broke out, men were slaughtered, women were raped chaos reigned in the streets for a good month and a half before peace was eventually restored by force.

His position as regent confirmed, Aerys made changes to the small council. Prince Maron Martell who had served as master of whispers under two previous kings was dismissed from the small council and replaced by a man from across the narrow sea, the eunuch Lord Varys, whose reputation as a gatherer of secrets proceeded him. Ser Benjen Rykker the master of coin under King Aegyl was replaced by the regent’s own cousin Lord Steffon Baratheon the Lord of Storm’s End. Varys got to work quite early, whispering in the regent’s ear about the need to keep enemies close at hand, and so Prince Rhaegar was brought to court and named as master of laws. Tywin Lannister remained hand of the king, for Aerys was not so far gone in his madness that he could not see the advantage of keeping the man at court. Victarion Greyjoy remained as master of ships as well, Varys doing that was, better to keep Balon Greyjoy in check.

As with any period of time which sees confusion and chaos ruling the royal family, there were those who sought to make more for them by taking advantage of the chaos. Secret meetings took place in both the north and Dorne, regions that were traditionally much more different than other kingdoms, with the various lords calling for a breaking away from the Iron Throne. Lord Jon Umber argued that there was no point serving a boy king when they had a perfectly capable lord ruling them now, and that “what did those pansy southerners know about winter.” Many other lords, Glover, Ryswell, Dustin alike all agreed with Umber’s thoughts, and many whisper Rickard Stark did as well, or at least he would have done had his two eldest boys not still been fostering in the south. His second son Eddard, fostering in the Vale was allowed to come every so often, however his eldest son and heir Brandon fostering in King’s Landing had not been allowed home since King Aegyl’s death, Aerys using him as a hostage to his father’s good behaviour, and so the northern lords could whisper all they wanted no independence would be forthcoming.

As for Dorne, the rumours continue to this day to float about over what exactly it was that Princess Arianne who had served as a companion for Aerys wife Rhaella in their youth wished for kingdom. There are those who believe that she wished for her daughter to be queen, the frail Princess Elia who was eight years older than King Aemon but only two years older than the full grown Prince Rhaegar. There are others who believe that she had grown tired of Targaryens and their breed of madness, and wished for Dorne to rule itself. We shall never know what it was the princess wanted exactly, all that we can do is speculate from the various meetings and letters that survive from the time.

Others such as Lord Luthor Tyrell sought to wean themselves into Aerys’ favour, by using flattery and being very obedient to him when he came knocking for things, at least they were until Lord Luthor rode himself off a cliff and his son the young oaf of Highgarden Mace Tyrell became Lord of the South. Then that was when things truly became interesting, the flattery continued and more and more things were done according to how Aerys wanted them to be done, causing unrest in the kingdoms and disquiet.

Tywin Lannister suspected that there could be another war on their hands unless they acted soon, and so suggested a marriage between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia in order to soothe over an ill feelings that might be present from the dismissal of Prince Maron from King’s Landing. In a rare moment of clarity, Prince Aerys agreed to the suggestion and the betrothal was announced quite quickly, with the wedding following some three moons later. Rhaegar and Elia Targaryen were wed on the fifth moon of the 278th year After Aegon’s Landing with the whole court in attendance and half the nobles of the realm present. Their first child a girl named Rhaenys, after the conqueror’s sister though some whispered the Queen Who Never Was, was born on the third day of the second moon of the 279th year After Aegon’s Landing, with her mother’s dark hair and Dornish skin and her father’s violet eyes.

It was at their wedding that King Aemon, turned thirteen met Princess Elia’s best friend, and lady in waiting the lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, sister to King Aemon’s idle Ser Arthur Dayne. A courtship began that day, that would later be made into songs and other such romantic nonsense. Still Tywin Lannister saw the king courting the lady Dayne, and silently fumed at his own daughter’s foolishness, and pondered the best ways to try and convince the King that his daughter would make a far better Queen than some Dornish harlot. For the Lady Ashara had already developed a reputation for being quite the seductress, and that too of grown men, she herself was only fifteen when the wedding of her friend happened. And at that wedding many a grown man including the regent himself found their heads turned by her, what was a thirteen year old boy to do.


	38. The Sun Princess

**Princess Elia Targaryen**

Summerhall was not all that different from Dorne, Elia had found. That did make sense considering it was quite close to Dorne itself, the thought was quite comforting for her, the warmth and the breeze all reminded her of home, of days spent playing in the Water Gardens and days trapeezing round the Shadow City. She found she much preferred Summerhall to King’s Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms stank to high heaven, it smelt of a million bodies and animals and all kinds of other rubbish crushed together to make a choking sort of feeling for Elia. Yes she much preferred the open spaces of Summerhall and the freedom that allowed her.

She had been wed to Rhaegar Targaryen heir to Summerhall and master of laws on King Aemon’s small council for just over two years now. In that time she had come to learn more about her husband than she had thought possible. At first she had been as excited as any girl would be if they were to marry Prince Rhaegar, for the prince had the traditional Targaryen beauty about him, was well read and perfectly polite and sensible, someone whom Elia had thought she could come to love. She had soon learnt different, for though her husband was not cold or cruel, he was distant, very distant. Whenever he came to visit Summerhall he usually spent a great deal of time in the library reading some book or the other and barely bothered to speak with her or his own mother. During the early part of her marriage she had asked her goodmother Princess Rhaella if she had done something to displease her husband, her goodmother had smiled sadly at her and told her that she had done nothing wrong, nothing at all it was just in Rhaegar’s nature be solemn and withdrawn.

The only time he had ever truly spoken to her beyond the basic courtesies was when he had asked her what she knew of why his father and mother had married. Everyone from the wall down to Dorne knew that a wood’s witch had foretold some story or the other and Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella had been forced to wed one another by Rhaegar’s great grandfather Prince Aegon. That was a tale told about Targaryen eccentricity, however, the more commonly believed one was that Prince Aegon had simply wished to continue the Targaryen tradition of wedding brother to sister. When she had told her husband this he had smiled sadly at her and told her that the story was truer than the truth put about. That was the day Rhaegar told her all about this prophecy of his and how the dragon needed three heads that was the night they had made Rhaenys she knew. And when he had come home from court, that first night was the night that this current babe had been conceived.

Elia could not share her husband’s fascination and dedication to some obscure prophecy nor did she truly share her doubts with anyone but Ashara, Ashara who had been her friend since childhood, whom she confided everything in had laughed when she told her, and said her husband must have been dropped on his head as a child to believe such nonsense. And yet, Ashara herself was living a song, a dream, for the king had courted her ever since Elia’s own wedding day. The king had been but a boy of thirteen, Ashara a maid of fifteen then, and yet Elia had never seen someone so determined to woo Ashara. Oh she knew that many people had chased her before, either wishing to bed her or to kiss her or something like that, and though Ashara played along, her friend was still a maiden and had found the king’s attentions all very flattering and sweet, and yet she had not deigned to respond in kind saying. “I do not wish to be queen, nor do I want to wed a boy.” And yet something had changed, her friend the sweetheart of Dorne had eventually been worn down by the King’s efforts, and their betrothal had been announced some three moons past, they were to wed in another two moons.

When she had asked Ashara why she had changed her mind and given in, her friend had blushed and then in hushed tones said. “I’ve never actually seen someone be so stubborn and persistent in something such as this, Aemon reminded me of myself, and he’s so very nice and charming and I think I do like him more than I have anyone else Elia.” Coming from Ashara that was very high praise indeed, though she could understand it, King Aemon was now fifteen, charming, tall and handsome and nowhere near as somber or solemn as her own husband was. Yes the two of them would make a lovely couple.

It almost made her sad, thinking about it, if she had to wed into House Targaryen why could it not have been the king himself and not Rhaegar? Then again things between her mother and the Iron Throne had not truly been the same not since Alyssa Greyjoy had become King Aegyl’s queen. She had once accidently voiced such feelings to her goodmother, who had smiled sadly at her and said. “I too once wished for something such as that sweetling. It does not good to dwell on what could have been. If you don’t love my son, atleast love your children and give them all the happiness you can.” Elia did, she truly did love Rhaenys with all her heart, Rhaenys who even at one year old was full of fire and passion, reminding her so much of her brother Oberyn it sometimes made her heartache.

Sometimes, her thoughts would drift to Arthur as well, Arthur who was one of the best knights of the Kingsguard, and Ashara said one of the king’s closest friends. Arthur whom she had shared her first kiss with, Arthur whom she had said she would wed when they were children. Arthur who had abandoned her to take the white, and wed himself to duty. Arthur whom she dreamed off when she went to bed at night.

A knock on the door took her away from her thoughts. She called for whoever it was to come in and found herself looking at her goodmother, she made to stand but Princess Rhaella bid her sit. Once her goodmother was sat down as well, Elia asked. “Is all well mother? Do you need some help with something?”

Princess Rhaella smiled then and said. “No, no everything is fine. I just came to make sure you were doing okay.”

Elia smiled. “I am well mother, as is Rhaenys. We are both doing fine.”

Rhaella smiled at her and then winked, before turning round to the guard who had come with her. “You may leave now Ser Willas. I shall call for you when I next need you.” The knight bowed and left closing the door behind him. Once they heard his footsteps disappear, Rhaella turned to Elia once more and whispered. “There was a raven from King’s Landing this morning. From Rhaegar.”

Elia feels her heart begin to speed up as worry for her husband grows. “Is he well?” she asks.

Rhaella nods. “Aye my son is well, no he writes that he and the king as well some of the Kingsguard and Lord Tywin shall be coming here to Summerhall in a few weeks time, to see how everything is going. What he means is that they are coming here to plot.”

“To plot?” Elia asks confused.

Her goodmother nods. “Aye to plot sweetling. Rhaegar writes that Aerys grows madder by the day, and has become a threat to the safety of the realm. The king means to remove him from power for good, and needs somewhere safe to do so.”

Elia nods. “Ashara will want to know, after all she has not seen Aemon for some time.”

Rhaella nods. “Aye, tell her and make sure you speak softly when you do so, for though most of these men are loyal to myself, some are loyal to the spider.”

Elia nods, and when she tells Ashara about the king’s visit, her friend smiles so brightly that she thinks all this nervousness is worth it just to see that smile. But then Ashara says. “But that means Arthur will be coming as well. Will you be alright, with Arthur and Rhaegar being here at the same time Elia?”

Elia rolls her eyes. “Of course I will Ash. After all, Arthur is a sworn knight of the Kingsguard and I am a married woman, we have no reason to act as more than mere acquaintances.”

Ashara snorts then and says. “That’s rubbish Elia, I know you still like him, and I know for a fact that he still likes you. You were all he would talk about when I was in King’s Landing.”

Elia blushes but says no more on the topic. In fact no more is said until two weeks later when King Aemon comes riding in dressed in black and red riding clothes, accompanied by three knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Brandon Stark the king’s former sworn shield and Ser Arthur Dayne the king’s friend and Ashara’s brother. When Elia catches Arthur’s eye she feels her heart speed up and hopes the blush does not show to vividly on her face. The others who accompany the king include the Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister, and Brandon Stark the younger and the heir to Winterfell and Ser Garth Hightower both of whom grew up with the king in the capital.

At the feast that night held to welcome the king to Summerhall, Elia is sat beside Ashara and between her and Arthur, Rhaegar has gone off somewhere, perhaps to library not that she cares, but Arthur leans over to speak with her, and his voice is raspy. “Princess, it has been too long. How have you been?”

Elia looks at Arthur thinking the man drunk but dismisses it once she sees his eyes, they are still so bright and sharp he can’t be drunk. “I am well Ser, my daughter is well and the child within me grows stronger every day. How have you been? How has the capital treated you?”

Arthur smiles wanly, his voice no louder than a whisper when he says. “Well princess, it has treated me well. My king is a good and honourable man, and he is a friend. And my sister is happy. But I have missed you.”

Elia feels herself shiver at that. “I have missed you too.” She whispers, holding his hand underneath the table.

“Do you like at Summerhall?” Arthur whispers just as softly.

Elia nods her head. “Yes, it is nice and peaceful here. Much nicer than King’s Landing as well. Though I do miss Dorne sometimes and Oberyn as well.”

Arthur smiles then. “Aye me too, it will be nice to have you and Ash in King’s Landing though. I would have thought Oberyn would be here though. He always said he’d never leave you when you grew up.”

Elia laughs. “Oberyn had to return to Dorne, Doran had some need of him. But he will be back soon enough.”

Their conversation ends there and later that night when Elia is in bed with Ashara, they whisper about what gossip Ashara has heard from her betrothed and the other ladies of the court. “Jaime Lannister was wed to Princess Rhaena before Aemon left for here, Jaime and his bride now rides for the Rock as we speak. And Robert Baratheon has made some drunken wager with Brandon Stark about something or the other.” Ashara whispered.

“Aye, did he tell you anymore about this tourney they are planning? Rhaegar was rather closed lipped about it.” Elia admits.

Ashara snorts. “Rhaegar is a fool. Where is he now? Consorting with his books about some stupid prophecy when he could be sharing in your warmth. Aemon merely told me it will be the biggest tourney that Westeros has ever seen and that it will change the course of history.”

That does sound rather daunting, but Elia merely nods to her friend, and then they give themselves over to the throes of passion for the night. The king and his company stay in Summerhall for a few days, before returning to King’s Landing, but bringing Elia, Rhaenys and Princess Rhaella with them. For Aemon and Ashara are to be wed, the king having decided to move the wedding forward.

They are wed with great pomp in a ceremony attended by half the realm in the Great Sept of Baelor, the king looking dazzling with his black hair and his black doublet, and Ashara looking like the maiden herself in her dress. Elia feels happy for her friend, but she can’t help noticing the divisions amongst those in the Sept. Standing on one side, Stark, Lannister, Dayne, Arryn and Hightower people, on the other side, Elia’s side, Tyrell, Martell and Connington and others. A clear sign of division within the royal family, or is she simply imagining things?


	39. Dust In The Wind

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

Aemon Targaryen, King of Westeros and Lord Protector of the Realm opened his eyes and saw that the sunlight was beginning to stream in through the curtains. He heard someone mumble next to him, and looked down to see his wife’s head pillowed on his chest, her dark black hair spread out like a fan. He smiled contentedly; he and Ashara had been wed for three moons now, three moons in which Aemon had felt drunk on love and lust. He had first seen Ashara when he had been thirteen years old and her fifteen, at his cousin Rhaegar’s wedding. She had come as one of Princess Elia’s ladies in waiting, and had been the most beautiful woman in the whole entire building, there had already been rumours and songs about her at the time, there was talk of how she wooed men and women alike, and how even for a Dornishman she was far more flirtatious.

None of that mattered to Aemon though, not when she had the loveliest haunting violet eyes he had ever seen, or the loveliest laugh he’d ever heard. He’d known then and there that he was in love with her and wanted to marry her. And so he had set his mind to the task, he would court her and woo her he had decided, and eventually after many moons she had eventually been worn down enough to accept his suit. Their betrothal had been announced and he had been the happiest man alive, and then they had married and his happiness had increased. Looking at her now as she slept, Aemon knew he had made the right decision, she might not be from a Great House but that did not matter to him, she made him laugh and was a great source of comfort to him, something he had never truly known, not since his father had died. He had found that he could speak to her about anything and everything, they would often spend their time together talking about the court and the council, and Ashara would offer him her advice which was more often than not very sound political advice.

She moved her head slightly and murmured something, but Aemon’s thoughts had turned from her to something else. His life before he had met Ashara had been chaotic, at least the years since his father’s death had been so. He remembered a little of his father, knew him as a kind tall man who would play with him and his brothers sometimes, but other than that he knew not much else. His father had died when he had been ten, killed by the Darklyns during the Defiance of Duskendale, and so there had been a huge struggle for control over the regency, which had seen his great aunt and great uncle killed and his uncle Aerys installed as regent. Aerys was not truly his uncle and was not truly sane either, the man had been very harsh to Aemon growing up having his toadies beat him if he misbehaved or refused to do something that could benefit Aerys. In the beginning he had done as told simply because he did not wish to be beaten, but towards the time of his fourteenth birthday he had begun refusing and that was when he had become closer to his father’s friend Lord Tywin Lannister.

Tywin Lannister was a smart and ruthless man who could be caring if he truly wanted to. Aemon had befriended his father’s old friend and had found him to be a very useful ally, as Aemon tried to wrest control of King’s Landing and the kingdom away from his uncle and back into his own hands. The man provided some very sound advice, speaking to him of the intrigues that ran rampant around court and the divisions that the struggle for power in the years following his father’s death had created. Tywin had advised him on whom to trust and whom not to trust amongst the council and the members of court, and as such the rot from Aerys was beginning to lessen.

That was a good thing, for his uncle was growing steadily and steadily more mad with each passing day let alone month or year. Whenever Aemon had happened to pass him by in the halls of the Red Keep he would often be found muttering about burning various lords and nobles, something Aemon was deeply worried about. And yet there was very little he could do just yet, until he was sixteen he could not remove Aerys from King’s Landing by force or any other means, be they peaceful or not. Yet that did not mean he could not begin the process now, and he had done so already. Ashara’s family were firmly behind him, of course they would be with a Dayne as Queen and a half Dayne to be heir to the throne. Tywin and the Lannisters were already behind him as well due to Tywin’s friendship with his father, the Starks and Arryns were staunch supporters as well due to family ties. There were only blackspots amongst the Greyjoys, the Tullys and the Baratheons. The other houses were either too weak or in Aerys camp because of Rhaegar.

Rhaegar, the mere thought of his cousin annoyed Aemon. The man was gifted at whatever he set his mind to, and yet there was an air of melancholy and distance in him that Aemon truly could not understand. It was as if he was simply drifting by in life without a care in the world, it was frustrating and Aemon had never truly been able to understand or connect with his cousin the way he had with Brandon, Elbert and Garth.

Brandon and Elbert were wild and free spirits, both of whom he knew were undyingly loyal to him, but they were also laid back and charming to a fault, able to get whatever they wanted with a wink and a smile. Garth was the more serious of his friends, taciturn and dutiful, Aemon knew that his friend had often disapproved of the pranks they had played on the other members of the court in their childhood and yet he had gone along with it because Aemon had asked it of him. He could not have asked for a better set of friends, it helped ease the pain of the fact that he did not truly know his brothers, true Viserys and Baelon had come to court shortly before his wedding, but that was not enough to heal the damage that his mother’s flight to Dragonstone had done.

“What’s got you so glum my king?” he heard his wife purr.

He looked down to see Ashara’s violet eyes staring right at him, he smiled and kissed her forehead and then said. “Oh just the fact that I can’t spend the whole day in bed with my beautiful wife ravishing her.”

Ashara hit him with her hand and sat up then; cradled in his arms she kissed his mouth and then asked. “Do you have to attend the council meeting today my love? Can’t you just let them get on with it themselves? After all they did manage for four years without you attending and the kingdom ran just fine.”

Aemon laughed slightly then and kissed his wife back before replying. “You know I must attend the meeting Ash. I cannot let my uncle’s influence grow anymore than it already has. I must show these men that I mean to take full control when I come of age, and not afterwards nor will I let someone like Aerys continue to dictate my kingdom. Besides I must speak with Tywin about the tourney.”

His wife sighed then and said. “Very well then my love. But make sure you are back before lunch, this time. I do not want to have to explain to Arel why you missed your meeting with him a second time.”

Aemon smiled guiltily at that, in truth he had deliberately kept the council meeting running a little longer than usual as he was so nervous at meeting his goodbrother to discuss the marriage arrangements. But he would not voice that aloud instead he kissed his wife once more and asked her. “Now are you and the babe doing?” His wife had told him a moon ago that she was with child, convinced they had made the child on their wedding night and Aemon had never felt happier or more concerned.

Ashara smiled at that and said. “We are both well my love, and won’t harm your plans for the tourney.”

Aemon smiled and kissed her again before saying. “You never could, neither of you my love.” Just as the kiss was deepening there was a knock on the door. Aemon sighed and called for whoever it was to come in. Ashara pulled the covers higher to cover herself whilst Aemon remained upright in their bed.

It was his squire Joffrey Velaryon. “Pardons Your Grace,” the boy stammered. “But you asked me to knock on your door when it was time for the council meeting.”

Aemon nodded and then said. “Very well, you may go now Joffrey. I shall be out in a minute.” His squire left and then Aemon sighed and said aloud. “I guess I must get to work then. Till lunch my love.” He kissed his wife on the lips and then got up out of bed and began putting on the clothes he would wear for the day. Once dressed he walked out of the room and walked toward the council chamber, followed by Ser Brandon Stark of the Kingsguard, Brandon the elder he was called now to differentiate him from Brandon the younger the heir to Winterfell and Aemon’s best friend. Ser Brandon had been Aemon’s sworn sword since he could remember, the man knew more about him and the plots he was planning than even Ashara did. Ser Brandon stood outside the small council chamber along with Ser Oswell Whent when they arrived; Aemon entered the room and found the other members of the council already seated. Tywin, his hand, Aerys the mad, Victarion Greyjoy his uncle and master of ships, Lord Steffon Baratheon Aerys cousin and a good honest man his master of laws, the eunuch Varys who was his master of whispers he mistrusted that one, his cousin Rhaegar Targaryen master of coin and Pycelle the Grand Maester as well as Ser Gerold Hightower the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Aemon sat down and then said. “I apologise for my lateness my lords. Now I would ask what issues are there for us to discuss?”

Aerys spoke then his voice harsh and stern. “Well now that you have sought to come from fucking your Dornish whore Your Grace, there is the issue of these bandits in the Kingswood forest that have been plaguing the villagers for some time. We would like to know what you mean to do about them.”

Aemon ignored the sally to his wife and spoke in a neutral tone. “I have already instructed Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur to lead a party of Gold Cloaks out of the city later today to hunt for these bandits and bring them to justice as well as to return whatever had been stolen from the common folk. But you would know that if you had paid attention last time we met uncle. Now what else is there for us to discuss?”

His uncle bristled but Aemon did not care, let him bristle and stew soon enough he would be gone. Pycelle spoke then. “A raven came from the citadel Your Grace. My colleagues there believe that this summer will soon be at an end and that a long harsh winter is soon to follow.”

Aemon nodded. “Very well send the ravens out to the other lords, those who are wise will know that they will need to begin their harvests now, otherwise there will be nothing left for us to deal with come winter. What more?”

Varys speaks then his voice laced with its usual annoying sweetness. “Word from across the narrow sea Your Grace. It appears the Brightflames have added one more city to their conquest of Essos. Volantis has fallen.”

There is a deathly silence for a long moment and then Aemon says in soft voice. “What do they plan to do next? Do you know Varys?”

The eunuch titters and then replies. “They mean to take the Slaver cities. Though Bravos plans to invade Pentos and free it from the shackles of empire once more.”

Aemon nods, looks briefly at Tywin before saying. “I want you to keep an eye on that issue and should it become more pressing I will want a full detailed account of their campaign before we next meet. Now what more is there for us to discuss?”

As it turns out there is no more to discuss so the members of the council are dismissed apart from Tywin, Ser Gerold and Pycelle. They remain silent for a moment before Aemon asks. “Does he know?”

Silence and then Pycelle speaks. “Yes Your Grace. The eunuch whispered in his ear about the tourney. He thought that I was not listening as he did so, but he knows and he plans on coming with his son and gooddaughter.”

Aemon sighs. “It makes no matter, the plans have changed since we last met to discuss them. Tully has refused to answer my summons and my uncle Balon is a fool who cannot see passed his salt and rock. The tourney will continue, and when the lords see Aerys madness for what it truly is, they will know that what I mean to do is not wrong, it is the only way to save the kingdoms.”

Tywin spoke , his voice calm though the question was still evident in his tone. “Then why go to Harrenhal with Brandon Stark Your Grace? I know you are not going there to look at his daughters, one is to wed your friend and the other is said to be a sot. Why go then if not to convince him of the purity of your motives?”

Aemon smiled slightly. “I admit you have me there Tywin. Still I must go in person to convince Tully, the man is smart and shrewd yet his words will come back to haunt him should he not support me. I must make him see that. Still I expect you and your family to be at Harrenhal when I arrive Lord Tywin. More support the better, even if my fool of a cousin will be there.”

Two weeks later with the Kingswood brotherhood dealt with, after a legendary duel between Ser Arthur Dayne and the smiling knight, Aemon heads out to Riverrun with his best friend Brandon Stark the younger. With them come his wife Ashara, and two knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning and Ser Gerold Hightower, Aemon’s brothers Viserys and Baelon will join them on the way to Harrenhal but for now they remain in King’s Landing sparring and jousting. The ride to Riverrun is pleasant and peaceful and when they do eventually arrive Hoster Tully and his family greet them. Tully is a tall man, broad with craggy features and his auburn hair is turning grey, beside him stand his two daughters Catelyn and Lysa and his son and heir Edmure, as well as another boy, their ward. Introductions are made, and then later that night the feast is held, Brandon spends the time with his betrothed and Ashara speaks with Lysa Tully leaving Aemon the chance to speak with Lord Tully himself. “What you ask is most dangerous Your Grace. Aerys might be mad but he was appointed your regent lawfully until you do come of age. I cannot move against him without some repercussions surely.”

Aemon takes a sip of wine before saying. “You love your children do you not my lord?”

“Of course Your Grace.” Tully replies.

“Well if Aerys remains in power until my coming of age your family and the families of the great houses shall be in deep trouble. You have remained neutral throughout the whole case of political conflicts that plagued the early part of my reign whilst I was still a child, I can understand and sympathise with that. My uncle cannot, he will view you as a traitor and will have your whole family wiped out if he can, or remove you from power bit by bit until your daughters beg and your son is sold to slavery. Unless you want that to happen, side with me and you shall never face that fate.” Aemon replies.

Hoster Tully is silent for a long moment before he asks. “You are certain nothing bad would come from my supporting you Your Grace?”

Aemon chuckles softly then and says. “Of course my lord of Riverrun. I am the rightful king after all, what I say is law. Support me and you and yours will only prosper after all you will have an ear in Winterfell soon enough.”

That night he and Ashara are in bed, and Ashara is drawing patterns on his chest when she asks. “Do you think his mind has changed now then?”

Aemon is silent for a moment before saying. “I believe so my love, Tully is nothing but devoted to his family and his duty. Combine the two of them and he shall fall for it, and we shall have the extra support we need.”

“You might want to keep an eye on the second Tully girl then my love.” Ashara says, when Aemon looks at her enquiringly she replies.”She seemed quite taken with that ward of theirs, the Baelish boy though he was moon eyeing Catelyn Tully. That one will be trouble.”

And so it is, two days after their arrival, Petyr Baelish challenges Brandon to a duel for Lady Catelyn’s hand, a foolish thing to do, for the boy is but twelve, Brandon a man grown at nineteen with far more experience, the duel lasts barely anytime at all, and though he would be within his rights to kill Baelish, thankfully Brandon listens to his betrothed and spares the boy. Later on when he and Brandon are sat alone in Brandon’s room drinking wine, Aemon asks his friend what he made of his betrothed. Brandon is silent for a moment before saying. “She is a good woman, and will make a good wife, but she is very uptight and proper about some things.”

Aemon laughs then. “So she did not offer you her maidenhead then my friend? Ach well there will be plenty of chances for you to take it after you are wed. Not every girl is like Alyssa Celtigar or even that other girl what was her name? Velaryon’s daughter?”

Brandon snorts then and hits him playfully on the arm saying. “Not his daughter, his cousin. Gods above Aemon she was a delight. Big breasts and such a nice arse.”

Aemon is about to respond when there is a knock on the door, Ser Arthur opens the door to reveal Lady Catelyn still fully dressed. Aemon gets up and bids farewell to his friend and walks back to his own rooms. The next day they leave for Harrenhal and if Brandon rides with a bit more spring in his step Aemon says nothing though he smiles slightly. When they arrive at Harrenhal Aemon learns that the other lords and guests are already here, camped over the vast expanse of lands that make up the lordship of the castle. Being the king of course means that Aemon and his family are housed in the actual castle whilst Brandon rides of to find his own family, Lord Dorris Whent, a smart man more bookish than martial had decided to hold the tourney after a visit from his brother Ser Oswell, something Aemon had orchestrated. Dorris speaks softly as they to the rooms Aemon and his wife shall be sharing the duration of the tourney. “All those who said they would come have come Your Grace. Stark, Arryn, Baratheon, Lannister, and Hightower they are all here with some of their more powerful bannermen. Aerys is here as well though and Prince Rhaegar, and Princess Rhaella and Princess Elia and her daughter as well.”

Aemon nods. “I know this, you have done Lord Dorris. I shall not forget what you have done for me when I come into power.”

The tourney of Harrenhal itself lasts for ten days, with a competition for singers, an axe contest, a melee which is won by Robert Baratheon heir to Storm’s End, an archery competition won by Ser Lewyn Dayne of the High Hermitage branch. And feasts, so many feasts Aemon feels as if he has eaten his body weight in food by the time the jousting happens on the final three days. The event everyone had looked forward to because of the competition, Aemon has his favourites, his sworn sword Ser Brandon is competing and so Aemon follows his progress most studiously. He comes up against Ser Baelor Hightower Garths eldest brother first and beats him in two tilts, next he comes up against Ser Tygett Lannister and beats him in four tilts, then comes up against Ser Lewyn Dayne beating him in two tilts, he comes up against Lord Summer Dondarrion and beats him in one tilt, through to the semi final.

Two other knights of his Kingsguard compete, Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan. Both men advance through to the semi finals where Ser Arthur is unhorsed by Ser Brandon after twelve tilts, and Ser Barristan is unhorsed by Rhaegar after nine tilts. Another interesting thing of the tourney is the Knight of the Laughing Tree so called because of the weirwood tree on his shield, who rampages through the early stages of the jousting unhorsing men much bigger than him, including three squires from House Haigh, Frey and Blount before never appearing again in the lists much to Aemon’s fascination. He begins wondering who the knight is and though Aerys demands the knight be found, Aemon simply says if the knight wishes for a reward he must come forward. No one ever does and so the knight if forgotten for a time, as the final of the jousting happens.

The anticipation that fills the stands at the first tilt is something Aemon will never forget. Both men rear up and charge and shatter their lances, and are soon at it again and again. Fourteen tilts it takes, fourteen tilts of pure action and adrenaline before Rhaegar manages to strike a lucky blow and unhorse Ser Brandon, when he comes to the stand to get the crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty from Ashara, he makes a round of the ground before coming back to the stand, Aemon expects him to place the crown on Elia’s head, and yet he places it on the head of Brandon’s little sister Lyanna Stark.

Shock gives way to anger and later on before the final feast, Aemon sits in his cousin’s room waiting for him, when Rhaegar Aemon stands up and punches his square in the jaw. His cousin snaps back, and Aemon thinks for a moment Rhaegar means to hit him, but his cousin merely looks at him with those sad eyes of his and asks. “What did I do to deserve that Your Grace?”

Aemon fumes then and says. “You know damned well what you did Rhaegar.”

His cousin merely looks at him before sighing. “Is this about the incident with the Stark girl? I meant nothing by it, I was simply acknowledging her bravery and her beauty.”

Aemon is silent and then says. “What do you mean, what do you mean to her?”

Rhaegar shakes his head. “Nothing sinister Your Grace. She was the Knight of the Laughing Tree and I meant to honour her by crowning her, I meant no slight to Elia or to anyone else.”

“Well keep in mind that she is betrothed cousin, to Robert Baratheon and the man wanted your head for that. You will tell him why you did what you did and then we can move on from all this.” Aemon says.

He is surprised when his cousin shakes his head and says. “I cannot I promised the girl that I would not tell anyone, I have broken that promise now but I cannot break it again. Besides she is ice.”

“What do you mean by that?” Aemon asks.

“Ice and Fire Your Grace. We were meant to meet.” Rhaegar replies and Aemon feels his heart sink, not this again.


	40. Dawn

**Ser Arthur Dayne**

“You and Ser Barristan shall escort my wife to Casterly Rock.” King Aemon had told him the night of the farewell feast. Arthur had long ago learned not to question the Targaryens when it came to such matters, and as such had merely nodded in acceptance of what the king and his goodbrother had said.

Later though he had asked his sister why she was not returning to King’s Landing with her husband, and she had sighed deeply and said in a sad voice. “Because Aemon expects there to be trouble when he returns and he does not wish to risk the lives of myself and our unborn child.”

What sort of trouble Arthur did not need to guess, the Tourney of Harrenhal had been planned originally be the king and his hand Lord Tywin Lannister, as a means of assembling all the great lords and their powerful bannermen together in order to gather enough support in order to have Prince Aerys removed from the regency a year early. Arthur had served in the Kingsguard for four years now, and had seen Prince Aerys grow steadily more insane by the day, and so he was not surprised when Ashara told him of the purpose of Harrenhal, he learnt much about what the King was plotting from his sister, and though had he been anyone else he would have told Aerys by now, he was not anybody else, he was Arthur Dayne of Starfall, a sworn knight of the Kingsguard and the king’s goodbrother and if he was honest with himself he agreed with what the king was planning. Better a peaceful removal than the bloody one that had at one stage threatened to happen.

Still the ending of the tourney of Harrenhal was not without incident, Prince Rhaegar’s naming of Lyanna Stark as Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife had caused quite the gossip mongering to erupt. Lady Lyanna was betrothed to Robert Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End whilst Rhaegar was married to Princess Elia, who was also heavy with his child. The rumours spread far and wide were that the prince meant to set aside Elia and take the wolf girl as his new wife, what to make of these Arthur knew not, all he knew was that he was deeply angry with Prince Rhaegar for his callous actions. The wolf girl was nothing but a child compared to the radiance of Princess Elia, a woman grown who continued to grow beautiful with each passing day as far as Arthur was concerned, but of course he would think that, he had loved Elia since they had been children playing in the Water Gardens.

Still he had taken some satisfaction when Ashara had told him later on that the king had punched Rhaegar square in the jaw for causing such a scene, and that he had been banished to King’s Landing for the rest of the tourney. The Starks themselves had retreated back to the north and Winterfell as well with some haste, the king’s friend Brandon Stark going with them, fuming all the while. Aerys, had been beside himself with anger at the actions of the Starks and the actions of the king, but feared to say anything that might belittle his own self in front of half the realm.

And so with Harrenhal done and the plans the king had made knocked back a few stages, the royal party left. The king and his brother Viserys for King’s Landing along with Prince Aerys and Ser Arthur’s sworn brothers Ser Brandon the elder and Ser Gerold Hightower, whilst Prince Lewyn escorted Elia to Summerhall by the king’s decree. With Arthur and Ser Barristan rode the king’s younger brother Baelon, who was squiring for Tywin Lannister himself. As to why the hand was not returning to the capital not even Ashara knew, but Arthur had held some slight reservations about heading to the Rock. After all it was no surprise that Lord Tywin had wanted his own daughter to be queen, and was not above doing all he could to achieve his goals, and yet the man had proved very hospitable to Ashara during their stay there, whether it was because of Arthur’s presence or because he generally liked Ashara, Arthur could not say but all the same it was some slight comfort.

Lord Tywin’s daughter Cersei Lannister however, was a completely different case. She always spoke shortly and snappishly towards Ashara and there was always a hateful glint in her eye, that had Arthur’s hand constantly on the pommel of his sword whilst she was in the same room as his sister. Tywin’s son, Ser Jaime Lannister was a good lad, a good swordsman with the potential for great deeds and a boy who as madly in love with his wife, princess Rhaena who was every bit as fiery and passionate as her brother, had the heir to the Rock wrapped around her Littlefinger and she had the ability to make him do whatever she wanted.  The youngest Lannister child, Tyrion was but a child, wandering around at his brother’s heels and constantly badgering Arthur and Ser Barristan for stories about the wars and the knights they had fought against he was a sweet child.

Roughly three moons into their stay at the Rock, Ashara went into labour, it was a hard one for her. One that brought back memories of Arthur’s own mother’s painful birth with Allyria some five years ago and how she had not survived that birth. As the hours ticked by and still the screaming could be heard Arthur began fearing for the worst. Eventually however, the screaming stopped and Arthur was bid enter the room, he found his sister sat up in bed, her skin flushed and her hair sticking to her face with a baby boy with her dark black hair and the king’s purple eyes suckling at her breast. She had named the boy Maekar after the king’s great grandfather, a fitting name Arthur thought. A raven had been sent to King’s Landing to inform the king, but there had still not been a response and that was now two moons ago.

“Arthur, Arthur are you okay?” he heard his sister ask, bringing him back to reality.

“What? Oh yes I’m fine sorry Ash. You were saying something?” Arthur replied.

His sister smiled then. “Yes I was just asking if you thought Ser Barristan fancied me.”

“What?” Arthur sputtered.

Ashara laughed. “Oh come now brother, don’t play coy with me. I know Ser Barristan likes me, I can see it in the way his eyes follow my every movement as if I hang the moon.”

Arthur is silent for a moment before saying. “He follows your every movement because you are the Queen, and we are sworn to protect you no matter what. Even if he does like you in that way, there is nothing he can do about it.”

“When did you become so dire brother? Have a bit of fun, otherwise you are like to go mad here waiting for Aemon to write to us.” Ashara teased.

Arthur sighed. “I’m sorry Ash; it’s just that I’m worried. Why has the king not written to you in so long? He has not even written back to acknowledge the birth of his son and heir. Ser Barristan has heard nothing from Ser Gerold either, we are concerned. Aerys might have done something, especially now that Tywin is at the Rock.”

His sister was silent for a moment before she said. “He’s probably caught up in whatever it is he’s doing at court. Removing a man who’s been in power for five years has got to be a difficult task. After all, the man does have the Tyrells backing him with all their power and strength. Though the Hightowers are ours, still there are concerns. Lord Tully did not attend the tourney nor did Lord Steffon.”

“And so you think that Aemon might have done something to get himself arrested under false pretences?” Arthur guessed.

“Aye I believe Aerys might have done something like that, he’s mad enough and Aemon’s brash enough to try it. I don’t know Art, Aemon’s been acting strange since Harrenhal. It’s as if he’s expecting something.” Ashara replied concern lacing her tone.

Arthur was about to respond when there was a knock on the door. His sister called for whoever it was to come in and they found Ser Barristan Selmy, dressed in his white scaled armour standing in the doorway. “Pardons Your Grace, but I was wondering if I could speak with Ser Arthur.”

“Of course Ser. Do come in.” Ashara said. When Ser Barristan hesitated, Ashara said. “I won’t speak of whatever it is you need to speak of with my brother to anyone Ser, besides what better way for me to be protected than with two of the finest knights in the Kingsguard here.”

Ser Barristan blushed at the compliment, perhaps he did fancy Ashara after all, and he cleared his throat then and said in a clear voice whilst looking at Arthur. “I believe there might be a threat to the Queen here Ser.”

Arthur tensed then and asked. “Who?”

Ser Barristan looked behind him to make sure the door was closed before saying. “Lady Cersei.”

“What proof do you have Ser?” Ashara asked.

Ser Barristan was silent for a moment before he replied. “Admittedly at the moment my proof is limited though just now when I stood guard outside the room, I saw her walking towards the room some sort of drink in her hand, and when she saw me she froze and walked away.”

“That could have been anything Ser. It could have been something for herself as well as for her goodsister.” Ashara says.

“It was not for herself Your Grace. Forgive me but she is not as innocent as you would make her out to be.” Ser Barristan replied.

Ashara laughed then. “Oh I know she’s not as innocent as she makes out to be Ser Barristan, but with her father being Hand of the King and relying on Aemon actually liking him to retain his power, she is not like to try anything that could endanger her or her father. So no I am not worried for my safety, that of Maekar though I am.”

Arthur is about to speak then when they hear another knock on the door. “Tell them to come in, I’m just going to go check on the babe.” Ashara says, standing up and walking to the bed where Prince Maekar sleeps soundly.

Arthur opens the door and finds himself looking at Lord Tywin Lannister, the man is as imposing as ever, his blonde hair beginning to disappear, his moustache thick, his shoulders squared. He looks at Arthur briefly before saying. “Is the Queen in her rooms Ser?”

“Yes my lord.” Arthur says, moving aside and allowing the Lion into the room.

Ashara reappears then a smile on her face. “Ah Lord Tywin, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lord Tywin sits down in the chair next to the desk and says. “There have been two letters from King’s Landing Your Grace. One from the king, and another from Prince Aerys.” He hands Ashara the two letters which she quickly reads.

“The nerve of the man. Saying I should come back to King’s Landing and present my son for a proper Targaryen naming ceremony. What would that involve I wonder?” Ashara fumes.

The hand is silent and then asks. “What did the king write Your Grace?”

“He wrote saying that he is well pleased by the birth of our son, and that he was sorry he could not write sooner. He also writes to inform us of the wedding of Garth Hightower to Janna Tyrell. And that no this can’t be true.” Ashara says.

“What is it Your Grace?” Arthur asks feeling the fear within him rise.

Ashara looks at him and her eyes are scared when she says. “Rhaegar Targaryen has kidnapped Lyanna Stark and fled to locations unknown.”


	41. The Old Wolf

**Lord Rickard Stark**

His daughter was gone, missing, disappeared in the middle of the night without a word or a note. One of her maids had gone to wake her one morning five moons ago and found her bed empty, her room devoid of a few clothes and the room tidy, as if Lyanna had not been in it at all. The whole of Winterfell had been in uproar searching high and low for his daughter, and it had been Benjen who had found the rose, a blue winter rose that was Lyanna’s favourite attached to a cloak, a cloak of red and black and that was when Rickard put two and two together.

He had not gone to Harrenhal, there had been some matter of import that he had needed to deal with but his children had gone, Brandon had travelled from Riverrun, Lyanna and Benjen had left from Winterfell and Eddard had come down from the Vale. Though he had not been there he had heard all about the tourney. Word of Rhaegar’s crowning his daughter as Queen of Love and Beauty had reached his ears from a raven Brandon had sent him from Harrenhal itself, and there and then he had had some unsettling feelings about it all.

He could still remember the words he had read in his father’s journal all those years ago. _The Dragon shall take the wolf, and the realm shall bleed because of it._ Back then he had not taken the words seriously, why would the Targaryens try and kidnap one of his children or relatives? They were on good terms, now though he realised he had mistaken the words for the King’s family, when in fact he should have been looking at Summerhall and the family of Aerys Targaryen. Rhaegar Targaryen it was said was a great dreamer someone who spent more time in his books than in the practice yard, still Rickard had a suspicion as to why Rhaegar had chosen his daughter, that damnable prophecy again.

Brandon had returned from scouring for Lyanna, in a deep seated rage and had wanted to ride to the Red Keep with all haste and demand Rhaegar come out and answer for what he had done. Rickard had quelled that notion with a look and had merely said. “That will do nothing but get you killed son. Aerys will not take that lying down no matter you are the king’s best friend.” It was true Aemon Targaryen had not so far been able to remove Aerys from his power as regent and so the realm continued on in awkward limbo, something made worse by what Rhaegar had done.

Thankfully the King had the sense to write to them and tell them that he had sent Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent south to look for Rhaegar and Lyanna, though whether or not they would be found was another matter. It was evident that Rhaegar would not take his daughter to Summerhall nor to King’s Landing, that would be too obvious the question was where would they go and what would they do once they go there.

Some part of Rickard was deeply frustrated that his daughter had decided to shrink her duty and run away with Rhaegar, for he knew that Lyanna would never allow herself to be forcefully taken somewhere against her will, even with a blade pressed to her throat she’d fight until the bitter end. The fact that there had been no sign of a struggle suggested to Rickard that his daughter had left willingly with Rhaegar Targaryen. And Rickard did think he knew why, she had been against her betrothal to Robert Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End, saying to him that the lad was a drunken sot who would never be faithful to her, she had continued voicing her protests and yet Rickard had not listened. His ambition was more important than what his daughter wanted, besides he had met the storm lord once and had thought that perhaps Robert Baratheon would be a good potion for Lyanna’s own brand of wildness, though the more he thought of it now, the more he came to regret ever having her betrothed.  He would be happy just to have his little girl back, regardless of what she had done, she was still the little girl who had come to him for a story and had come to him when she had hurt herself playing, she was his flesh and blood and he loved her.

Prince Rhaegar however, had his full anger. The prince was a grown man who was already married with two children, he should have known better than to run away from his own responsibilities to his family and to the realm. The man he knew was book obsessed but this, this was not something even his father could forgive such a dereliction of duty, and if it were for that blasted prophecy, Rickard swore to the old gods he would carve our Rhaegar’s heart and offer it to the gods as a sacrifice. The man should have known better, thank the gods the king had the sense to send Princess Elia to Summerhall where she would be protected.

Rickard had written to Jon Arryn and had asked for Eddard to come home, it was time for the pack to join together and end the separation that he had enforced on them. Eddard had always been a solemn boy, now he was a solemn lad who Rickard knew was consumed with worry for Lyanna, though he did not vocalise it like Brandon did, he was still deeply troubled and worried. Brandon fumed and rode and fumed and disappeared for long periods of time only to come back angrier than when he had left, Rickard knew not what to do about his eldest son other than ensure that he did nothing rash or something that could get him killed.

“My lord,” maester Walys’ voice returned him to the present.

“Yes maester?” Rickard asked.

“You wished to see me?” the maester replied.

“Yes, yes I did.”Rickard said bringing his thoughts closer together. “I want you to send a raven to Storm’s End.”

“Storm’s End my lord?” the maester asked.

“Aye Storm’s End. I will be ending the betrothal between Lyanna and Lord Robert Baratheon.” Rickard said.

“Are you sure that is a smart idea my lord? After all the betrothal has been floating around between yourself and Lord Steffon for nearly two years now.” Maester Walys asked.

“Aye I am sure. Even if Robert Baratheon wishes to marry Lyanna once this whole fiasco is over, Lord Steffon will no doubt find some pretext with which to break it on, after all he is prickly about his honour and that of his house. I shall not let my houses be humiliated in that manner. No I shall tell Lord Steffon that until I have my daughter back any talk of marriage between our two houses is of the cards.” Rickard replied.

“Very well my lord.” The maester said. “Would you like me to send anymore letters?”

Rickard was silent for a moment deep in thought before eventually saying. “Yes send one to Lord Hoster. Tell him we should move the wedding forward, after all we live in uncertain times.”

“Of course my lord.” Maester Walys said bowing, but before he left Rickard said. “If you see my wife and Brandon tell them I wish to see them.”

The maester bowed and left and then a few minutes later his with Arya and his eldest son Brandon entered the solar. His wife was still breathtakingly beautiful to him even now, they were both old and he was growing bald, still she looked divine. “You asked for us father?” Brandon asked.

Rickard sighed. “Sit down both of you.” Both his wife and his son sat down in the chairs facing him. He sighed again and then said. “I have instructed a raven to be sent to Storm’s End, announcing to Lord Steffon that the intended betrothal will no longer happen. I have also asked for your wedding to Catelyn Tully be moved up a few moons. We live in uncertain times and now is not the time for us to dither.”

Brandon grinned then, but Arya, oh so perceptive Arya spoke then her voice laced with concern. “Is that the wisest course my love? After all the Baratheon words aren’t something less menacing than our own for a reason. Surely it would be best to wait out this whole debacle and then see what the situation is.”

Rickard sighed. “Normally, my love I would agree with you. However, I believe that there are certain things that might convince Lyanna to keep running from this marriage until we all are dead. I do not believe Rhaegar kidnapped her rather she went willingly, to avoid marrying Robert Baratheon or even being betrothed to him. She mentioned that she was not happy with the potential match, and I did not take her seriously and thought she would do her duty. But it seems the wolf blood was too strong in her for that. We must preserve ourselves for what is about to come and we cannot do that with our reputation in tatters.”

Brandon spoke then his voice heated. “So Lya left home with that silver haired bastard to escape the betrothal? I understand not wishing to wed someone, but surely there were other methods to do it than fleeing with that bastard. We cannot let this stand father; Rhaegar Targaryen took advantage of Lyanna’s fears and has used her. She will only get hurt.”

Rickard sighed. “What would you have me do Brandon? I will not charge into the Red Keep. Doing that will only get us killed, Aerys Targaryen has a firm hand there and not even King Aemon has as yet been able to remove him. No we shall wait and see what the Kingsguard find, and then once Aerys is removed from power we shall demand justice for what Rhaegar has done.”

“That is the most prudent course my love.” Arya began. “Has there been any word from King’s Landing since the king sent that letter?”

Rickard shook his head. “There has been no news from King’s Landing. Though my sister Anna has sent word from Castamere, it appears as though Tywin Lannister has asked about wedding his son Tyrion to one of their daughters.”

Brandon laughed then. “The short one? What was his name Tyrion? Lord Tywin must be having a laugh if he thinks Uncle Loren will let one of his daughters wed the imp.”

Rickard was about to reprimand his son when Maester Walys entered the room. “My apologies for interrupting my lords and lady, but there has been a letter from King’s Landing.”

Rickard nodded and took it from the maester, as he read it he had a sinking feeling. “What is it my love?” his wife asked. “What does the letter say?”

Rickard looked up from the letter. “It appears Aerys Targaryen has acted. He staged a coup in King’s Landing, the city watch killed Prince Viserys, and King Aemon has either fled or is dead. Aerys demands that we come south to pay him homage and give fealty to him as our rightful king.”

Brandon stood up then his voice laced with anger. “Surely you cannot mean to do so father.” His son all but shouted. “Aerys Targaryen is a mad man whose son took advantage of Lya. Surely you cannot mean to go south to King’s Landing.”

“Calm yourself Brandon,” Rickard said. “I do mean to go south,” Brandon began protesting, and Rickard silence him with a look. “But not alone, Aerys wants me to pay him homage, so be it. Let him face the homage of 20,000 northmen’s swords. Maester Walys send the ravens out, we march south, and we march to war.” It seemed somethings were destined to be, Rickard looked at his wife then and nodded, it was time.


	42. Tuesday's Gone

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

The pain was all consuming, sharp and unfiltered it stung something fierce. He could still feel the blade slicing through his skin tearing his eye out of his socket. He’d cut down the bastard that had done the deed but then he knew no more until he’d come to some time ago in an inn on the border between the Riverlands and the Westerlands, and then the memories had come rushing back to haunt him. He’d been entering the throne room when he’d seen his uncle Prince Aerys sat on the throne, court was about to start and yet Aemon had made perfectly clear that he would sit on the throne and sit in attendance for this session not Aerys, and yet there his uncle sat all tall and proud dressed in black and red of their house a crown atop his head. “ _Uncle,” Aemon had said. “I believe you are sitting in my throne.”_

_There had been some nervous laughter at that, but then Prince Aerys had merely looked up a mad glint in his eye and he’d said. “Oh no nephew, this throne is mine, and mine alone. I am the one true heir of the Dragon and I mean to see to it that you and yours never sit the throne.”_

It was pure madness, what his uncle said, and yet it made sense the secret meetings the man had been holding with certain members of the court and all the wheeling and dealing, his uncle had made a bid for the throne and now had the swords to back it up. The Goldcloaks had attacked him then, Aemon had drawn Blackfyre and had fought fiercely, cutting through men much older than him as if they were nothing more than sacks of meat, on and on he had fought whilst the lords and ladies of court watched in silence, and Aerys had cackled madly. Ser Brandon Stark the elder had come to his aid then and they had cut a bloody path through the Goldcloaks who had obviously been bought off. Aemon had meant to get his brother Viserys as well to spare him from Aerys’ brutality and yet Ser Brandon had said. “We cannot let you get caught Your Grace, if we do your cause is lost.” And so they had fled like cravens cutting through the city watch, when they had reached the lion gate that was when Aemon had lost his eye.

When he’d come to he found himself in some inn on the Gold Road and the memories had come flooding back. Ser Brandon informed him that there had been a rumour mill started following the events in the throne room, some believed him dead others believed the lie Aerys was spreading that Ser Brandon had captured and fled with him. There were men hunting for the both of them, and yet Ser Brandon was leading them to the Westerlands where they both knew Aerys would never dare send men. And so it was that three weeks later they had arrived battered and bruised at Casterly Rock, to be greeted by Lord Tywin, his family and Ashara. Sweet Ashara who Aemon had missed so much during the past year since Harrenhal, now he was grateful that he had sent her here. When she introduced him to their son, Maekar she had named him such love and pride filled him.

It could not last though, Tywin had soon told him that Viserys was dead, slain by Goldcloaks, when asked how he knew the exact details, and the lion had only one word. “Pycelle.” The old maester was now their eyes and ears in King’s Landing sending coded messages to the Rock informing them of what was happening in King’s Landing and throughout the rest of the realm. It was through Pycelle that they learnt of Aerys sending men to Dragonstone to hold the island and hold his mother and youngest brother hostage, Ser Jonothor Darry had beaten back the men sent and Dragonstone remained loyal, the Crownlords though had been forced to do service to Aerys. Sending him a hostage each boy or girl it made no matter they were hostages and their fathers would fight for Aerys in the war that was coming. Aemon’s uncle Victarion Greyjoy had been thrown into the black cells, and Varys the spider continued whispering in Aerys ear, what treasons the eunuch whispered Aemon knew not but he swore he would cut the bastard down when he retook King’s Landing.

Other news filtered in, Rickard Stark had called his banners, 25,000 men were marching down through the Neck for Riverrun where the Lord of Winterfell meant to have his heir and Aemon’s best friend wed Catelyn Tully. Stark had ended the betrothal between Lyanna Stark and the heir to Storm’s End, Robert Baratheon. There was still no news on where Lyanna Stark was, nor had Ser Gerold sent any word on his progress, that was worrying and yet another thing to cause Aemon anger and grievance.

If he was being perfectly honest the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity and descending into the madness that losing his eye and the other pain he felt at the betrayal was his wife and his son. Ashara was his anchor, their son everything he held onto for dear life, they made him laugh and smile and love when he felt like sinking into darkness. A feeling that was only increased when Ashara saw fit to tell him that the Tyrells had sided with Aerys in exchange for Rhaegar’s son wedding the newborn Margaery Tyrell. And that the Florents the old age rivals had also sided with Aerys in exchange for Cersei Lannister and the Rock.

So many traitors in his realm, they would be dealt with one by one, but first he needed to summon a council and discuss his next move. Tywin had called the banners of the West and 30,000 men had responded. Lords Lefford, Reyne, Crakehall, Lannister of Lannisport and the Crag, Marbrand, Tarbeck, Sarsfield all responded bringing with them vast numbers. All the lords swore to him that they would win this war and Aerys and his line would pay for their treason. All well and good but he needed more information before planning his assault, which was why he had called the council.

The lords met in Tywin’s solar all of them, battle hardened and proud and loyal, he would remember to reward them when the time came. For now he spoke simply. “What news from the east Tywin?”

Men often jested that Tywin Lannister could kill a man simply by looking at him, so cold he was supposed to be; Aemon had never seen that side of his father’s friend before only warmth and respect. “Our source reports that the Crownlords have all assembled at the Red Keep awaiting Aerys pleasure, though the usurper continues to dither waiting for the High Septon to formally anoint him.”

“And will he?” Aemon asked, his right eye- where the sword had cut- itching.

“Yes Your Grace. That man is Aerys creature through and through and will do as asked unless he wishes to be burnt.” Tywin replied.

Aemon nodded. “What more can our source report?”

“Robert Baratheon made it home safely to Storm’s End and has managed to raise his father’s banners. Not all of them though, and Robert does not say who he fights for. It matters not, he fought a host led by Lord Summer Dondarrion at Argilac’s Rock some three weeks ago and won. Dondarrion was slain, Baratheon has a clear path to Summerhall now which is defended by the Lords Fell, Grandison and Cafferen and Prince Aelix.” Tywin replied.

Lord Marbrand spoke then. “So the old dragon has finally come out of hiding and has decided to do what he does best then. Pah his death will not be one I mourn.”

“Careful how you speak of Prince Aelix Lord Damon. He might be fighting for the wrong side but he is still my kin and I will not have his name slandered.” Aemon warned. “Now my lords what would you suggest as the swiftest course to get into the Riverlands and meet up with our northern allies?”

Lord Lefford spoke then. “There is a passageway through the hook of Lion’s Ridge Your Grace that would allow you to bypass the Tooth completely. Though the men would need to ride and March in single file for the path is narrow.”

“It could safe us sometime as well Your Grace.” Lord Crakehall said. “After all we want to get to King’s Landing before Aerys knows what’s hit him, and before the bastard Rhaegar can arrive out of wherever he has hidden.”

Aemon nodded. “We shall take this passageway then and aim for Riverrun in say two weeks time. Lord Lefford you live closest to the Riverlands before you marched did you see any sign of activity in Riverrun? Has old Hoster Tully called his banners yet?”

Lord Lefford shook his head. “I apologise Your Grace. But when I left with my men, Lord Hoster had not yet summoned his banners. More than likely he is waiting for some opportune moment to call them.”

“Perhaps a reminder as to who his rightful king is would serve to drive him into action.” Lord Loren Reyne said.

Aemon looked at Lord Reyne for a moment then and asked. “What sort of reminder would that be if I might ask Lord Loren?”

Lord Reyne smiled and shrugged then. “Oh you know the usual fire and blood thing.”

Aemon smiled slightly then. “Oh I think old Lord Hoster knows perfectly well what will happen if he does not call his banners soon. Still I want a raven sent to him telling him to expect us in two weeks time, and that his banners had better be all there or he and I will be having words. Also Maester Geribald, I will want a raven sent to Pyke. I believe it is time to remind my uncle Balon of his duty to the throne. He is to deal with the Redwyne Fleet before they have the chance to move from anchor. I want word sent to Garth as well, he is to raise the Hightower host and get as many lords as he can and march on Highgarden at once.”

With that done the meeting came to an end, and Aemon walked back to his rooms that he shared with Ashara. He opened the door and heard her singing a lullaby. He stood in silence for a little while listening, and then entered the room once she had finished. “He sleeps so soundly.” Aemon said in wonder staring at his son in the crib.

“Aye, just like his father.” Ashara teased, wrapping her arms around him. “How did council go?” she asked purring as she kissed his neck.

“Well. We now know what our next move is to be.” Aemon said stretching his neck allowing his wife to kiss every part of it.

“Oh and what’s that?” Ashara asked.

Aemon turned round and kissed her on the lips, before pulling away and saying. “We march for Riverrun tomorrow, and from there we shall march for King’s Landing.”

Ashara’s fingers still their movements on his breeches, and she looks at him through her hair concern on her face. “I take it you will be leading them then my love?” she asks. Aemon nods. “Is that wise? Maester Geribald has said that the eye could still get infected, or rather the socket could, considering you leave it exposed. Surely Tywin could lead the men or even Ser Barristan.”

Aemon shakes his head. “I have to do this Ash. You know I have to. I am their king, I cannot lay claim to anything if I hide here like a scared little boy. Aerys had my brother killed, Rhaegar has gone mad, my family will not tear itself apart again. I will not allow it, Aerys must be stopped and I will stop him.”

“And nothing I say will convince you to stay here, and never leave my arms or our bed?” Ashara asks pleadingly.

Aemon sighs. “Would that I could my love, but I must do this. I am the king, and I will not hide behind the rock whilst men die for me.”

“At the very least enjoy tonight then my love. Make it a night you’ll never forget.” Ashara says wickedly before pushing him to their bed and then bliss.


	43. Ours is The Fury

**Robert Baratheon**

He was fuelled by anger, a constant anger and a sense of injustice. Rhaegar bloody Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna, sweet Lya, his Lya, Ned’s sister. The Dragonspawn had taken what was not his to take and had left Robert with nothing had made his family a laughing stock. When Robert had heard, he had been in the Vale and only Jon and Ned’s soothing tones had prevented him from storming straight to the Red Keep his war hammer in his hand and demanding that Rhaegar come out and die. Jon had instead told him that he had written to the king asking for explanations to be made. But the King, was but a boy who lived under Aerys and Rhaegar’s thumbs and would do nothing, and in fact had done nothing, not for the longest time, and by the time he had finally stirred himself to do something Lyanna could have been dead.

Then Aerys Targaryen staged a coup and the boy king left King’s Landing like a whipped cur, no dragon. More madness from the Targaryens Robert thought, though Jon Arryn urged him to return to the Stormlands and to Storm’s End for safety should mad Aerys turn his eyes towards him. Jon’s reasoning Robert had to admit was sound, for his father and Aerys were cousins and Robert had always thought that Aerys Targaryen had been slightly scared of Steffon Baratheon. And who wouldn’t be, Robert had for the longest time lived in fear of his father, for Steffon Baratheon was a big man, and smart and cunning and harsh when he needed to be. Now that he thought about it his father was a lot like Stannis, except unlike Stannis he knew how to laugh and smile.

Robert had returned to Storm’s End to the news that his father was gravely ill and close to dying, and that the north had called their banners as had the Westerlands. His father was torn between declaring for the boy king and remaining neutral, after all they were family towards Aerys and that mad bastard Rhaegar, but Robert wanted vengeance he wanted Lyanna back. She was his and he was hers, that was the way it was always supposed to be and so after some very heated arguments with his father, the ravens were sent out and the banners called. Not all the Stormlords responded positively to the summons, Lords Dondarrion and the Rainwood lords remained loyal to Summerhall and marched against him towards Argilac’s Rock.

With his father unwell, Robert had taken command of the Stormlords who had come to Storm’s End, Estermont, Tarth, Buckler, Boiling, Errol and others. Stannis came with him, his brother just as serious and dour as he had been even as a small child. And a fierce battle had been fought on Argilac’s Rock in the pouring rain they had fought. Robert had revelled in it the feeling of his hammer in his hand and the ability to vent the anger and frustration he had been feeling for so long. Whichever fool was stupid enough to come in his path was felled by his hammer, and he made a bloody path through the rebel Stormlords, swinging them down with a thunder and strength that he had never known he had possessed.

The battle lasted well into the night, the rain had made the ground and the rock slippery and muddy, and Summer Dondarrion would not give up the fight, more and more men were sent to their graves because of Dondarrion’s blind insistence on sending his men out to die. Robert did mind, in fact he revelled in the fighting, swinging his war hammer, he realised that this was what he had been born for, not for ruling lands or listening to complains, but for the swinging of his war hammer and the feeling of power he had gotten from knowing that someone’s life was in his hands, and he could play god deciding whether or not that person got to live or die.

He did eventually come face to face with Summer Dondarrion, and they clashed on the peak of Argilac’s Rock where legend held that Argillac had slain the father of Harren the black as a lad. They met in a clash of steel on hammer and though both men were tired from the day’s battle they fought hard and they fought long. For every blow Robert landed on Dondarrion, denting his armour and potentially winding him, Dondarrion struck him on the arms or the legs or the chest and opened up a fresh new wound for him to feel and suffer through.

Eventually though Robert’s youth came good, he was not as tired as old Summer Dondarrion and managed to fell him with a mighty swing that sent the whole world a spin. Dondarrion’s chest was caved in from the blow and he dropped down blood and gore and all kinds of other things came falling out of the marcher lord’s mouth and wounds. Robert watched the man breath his last before roaring for more men to come out and die. None did though, the marcher lords who had rallied behind Dondarrion either surrendered or died.

After the battle, they camped and tended to their wounds, and Stannis insisted that he deal a harsh sentence to those who had rebelled against their liege lord and their rightful king by siding with Aerys the usurper for that was what he was Aerys Targaryen for all intents and purposes was the usurper. Robert though knew that he would need all the men he could get for the battles that were to come and for the march north to the Riverlands where it was said the north and the Westerlands were currently camped and so the rebels were pardoned by Robert and accepted into his army, only an extra 500 men but they were skilled fighters.

News came from Storm’s End, it appeared that a fleet had blockaded the port at Shipbreaker’s bay and that their food supplies were beginning to run low, both Robert and Stannis wanted to go running back to their home to help their people, their father was too ill to do so. But then Lord Boiling pointed out that the only way they could help their family was by defeating and taking Summerhall and so they marched on and now the castle was coming into sight.

“We won’t be able to storm the walls Robert. They’ve got their archers pinned right on us. The minute we move is when we shall die.” Stannis said through the rain.

“Aye, we will need to figure out what other way to take the castle my lord.” Said their grandfather Lord Eldon Estermont.

Robert merely grunted. “There are men inside those walls; the Targaryens have more pride than sense. If we charge them some may die but others will live and whoever holds the castle will need to come out and defend their home, and we shall kill them and then take the castle.”

“What will you do about Princess Elia and her children Robert? They are our kin through marriage; surely you cannot mean to harm them?” Stannis asked.

Robert sighed. “Princess Elia and her children will remain unharmed; they are innocent in all of this. They will serve as hostages for us, against Aerys.”

“Our scouts report that, Prince Aelix holds Summerhall for his nephew. It is possible we will have to fight him and his men, and if that is the case we might face a tougher task then we first thought.” His cousin Ser Aemon Estermont said.

Robert merely grunted. “It makes no matter Aelix or Aerys, the man must die if Summerhall is to be ours. Raise a banner of parley, I will speak to these fools before we kill them.” And so a banner was raised and they rode out towards the gates, where after a few moments another rider rode out Prince Aelix Targaryen looked like Rhaegar had done at Harrenhal, with the silver hair and purple eyes though his eyes were hard as stone. “Prince Aelix,” Robert began. “I have come to offer you terms. Surrender the castle to me bloodlessly and you shall be spared as will Princess Rhaella and Princess Elia and her children. Once you surrender your men are to join me and mine as we march for the Riverlands.”

For a moment it genuinely did seem as if old Prince Aelix was about accept the terms Robert offered but then the old man sighed and said. “And to what purpose would my men be used for in the war in the Riverlands? I know you have not declared for King Aemon nor have you declared for King Aerys. How I to know my men am won’t be used in an attempt to usurp the throne from my family? I am afraid that I cannot give you my men without knowing what it is you intend to do with them once I have given you them.”

Robert growled then. “If I wanted to remove the Dragonspawn from the throne I would have done so by now, I am not one to play games Prince Aelix. Your men would be used to help seat King Aemon back on his throne whilst Aerys and Rhaegar burned in all the seven hells. Now will you give me your men or do I have to kill you for them?”

Robert saw the Prince’s eyes harden. “Return to your men Robert Baratheon, and be ready to fight. I will not give my men to someone who does not appreciate their worth. Now return and be ready to die.”

They rode back and soon enough the battle began anew. The men met in a clash of steel, Robert felt the battle rush hit him then, swinging his hammer like a man possessed he swung and swung and men fell to their deaths at the hand of his hammer. On he went, crushing breastplates and wounding more and more men, the blood he saw only fuelled his anger and his strength; he would show the Targaryens what it was to see the Baratheon fury. On it went, swinging his hammer, more men died than got even close towards him.

He kept swinging clearing a path through towards where Prince Aelix was, on his way he killed Lords Cafferen and Grandison, swinging his hammer with pure strength and noticing briefly the blood and bodies on the ground, the blood pooling like a river at the feet of his horse. Aelix Targaryen was an old man now but he was still a skilled fighter, Robert watched as the man brought down four men many years his junior, when he wounded Stannis though Robert roared and advance and their dance began. Swinging, hacking cutting and slashing. Aelix Targaryen gave as good as he got, Robert was wounded and tired very quickly, but still he was the younger of the two men and soon enough he had knocked the prince off of his horse with one deadly blow to the head he killed the prince.

It took a while for the man’s men to realise what had happened but when they did they either broke and fled or they surrendered and dipped their banners. Robert rode at the head of the army towards Summerhall, where he shouted up at the gatemen. “Your prince is dead, open these gates now and be accepted into the king’s peace once more.” The gates opened after what seemed an eternity, upon entering the castle grounds, Robert found himself looking straight at his father’s cousin. Princess Rhaella was a dignified woman and reminded Robert of his own grandmother somewhat. Once he had dismounted she came up to him and asked softly. “What is it you mean to do with us Robert?”

Robert was silent for a long moment before he said. “For the love my father bears you, you shall be spared as will Princess Elia and her children. For now we shall make use of Summerhall and then we shall ride out north.”

Much later once everyone was settled in they held a war meeting to discuss their losses and their next move. “We lost some 2,000 men to that battle it was near suicide. These lords will never fight for us, they are to ingrained in their loyalty to Princess Rhaella.” Ser Delton Staedmon said.

“They will do as the Princess commands them. And as she has given us the castle, she will give us her men.” Stannis said firmly.

“There is other news you should hear Robert.” Eldon Estermont said. “The reachmen led by Mace Tyrell are marching towards Summerhall, with a great host. We must move from here and head north soon if we wish to avoid being slaughtered.”


	44. The Silver Prince?

**Prince Rhaegar Targaryen**

Three heads were needed for when the darkness came, of that much he was sure of. He had been an avid reader as a child, where in Summerhall he had used it as a way to escape from the disappointments his father felt of him or heaped onto him. His father and mother had never truly gotten on, but then his father had left for court and things had become better, and his mother became happier, and that made Rhaegar happy. But of course he knew his destiny from an early age, for on the day of his birth a red comet had been sighted in the sky, and it was said that the Prince was to be born from smoke and fire, the comet he had been so sure was the fire, the smoke he was not so sure of.

When he had read that part of the prophecy he had been but ten years old, and had gone to Ser Damon Fell the master of arms at Summerhall and asked that he be trained in weapons. Like almost everything he set his mind to, he became quite a good swordsman, good enough that he was able to beat Ser Damon and other soldiers at Summerhall in the training yard by the time he was fifteen. He served as his uncle Aelix’s squire and was knighted by him at the age of sixteen after a tourney at Summerhall where he won the jousting. He knew his sudden development as a swordsman had surprised many, for they had all thought he would either become a bookish lord or become a maester. But there were some things that needed to be sacrificed in order for the greater good to happen.

He had wed Elia Martell at the age of nineteen not because he wanted to, but because his father wished for him to do so, and he had always been the obedient son even if he disagreed with much of what his father said or did. Elia was a sweet girl, kind and caring, she had borne him two children but Aegon’s birth had nearly drained her, had nearly killed her, and then Maester Pylos  had told him she could not give birth again or she would very well die.  The news disappointed him but it did not surprise him, he was fond of Elia, but ever since Harrenhal he had sensed that perhaps there was a distance developing between them, a coldness in the way she acted towards him that had not been there before.

He supposed it did not help that her best friend Ashara was so in love with her own husband, the king, Aemon Targaryen, Rhaegar’s cousin was a good man if a bit hot headed. His hot headedness had come across at Harrenhal where he had punched Rhaegar for crowning the Stark girl. Rhaegar had truly not meant anything by that action, he had simply meant to praise Lyanna and recognise her bravery in defeating those three knights. His cousin however, did not see it that way and apparently neither did half the lords and nobles who were present, they all read too much into one simple action and that was to be their downfall if they did not react quickly enough to the dangers that would soon be upon them all.

Lyanna he knew was in love with him; he had offered her a way out of an unwanted betrothal and marriage to Rhaegar’s own cousin Robert Baratheon. Rhaegar liked the girl, she was fiery and tenacious his own Visenya. Of course after Harrenhal they had kept in contact through letters and secret meetings through various means, and when Rhaegar had written to her that he would be in the north on some business or the other she had begged him to take her with him, and so he had. They had been wed in the godswood at Winterfell, and he had taken her maidenhead with her gods watching them.

Since they had arrived at the tower, that Elia had told him about some moons ago, they had spent their days reading to one another, practicing their swordsmanship and making love. That was what it was, for though he was only fond of his little wolf girl, Lyanna was in love with him and so he made love to her slowly and surely. They had tried for a child four times, and so far none of those times had worked. But as he watched her sleeping next to him a smile on her face, he was convinced that this time his seed had taken root and a child would be born from their union, a Visenya for his Aegon and Rhaenys, the three heads of the dragon to see off the darkness.

He continued looking at her and let his thoughts wander. Richard had returned from Nightsong with some very dire news. It appeared that his father had finally acted on his mad desires and had staged a coup in King’s Landing, Aemon had fled or been taken to the Rock, and the north and the riverlands had called their banners for Aemon. Fighting had broken out in the Stormlands as well, Robert Baratheon had gone on a rampage, winning battles at Argilac’s Rock and Summerhall, where Rhaegar’s uncle Aelix had been slain his wife and children held hostage before Robert had fled to the north for fear of the Tyrell host marching up towards Summerhall. Rhaegar knew he would have to ride north on the morning, he could not stay here not when his family needed him now more than ever. If he could make Aemon see sense they could join together and remove Aerys from power, all would be well.

Of course Robert would have to be killed. His cousin was hot headed and strong willed and stubborn, and would never wish to pay heed to whatever it was Rhaegar had to say. Rhaegar almost felt guilty for having to kill Robert, but then he chided himself, better one man die than the whole world. For that was what was needed when one needed to save the world from destruction, the icy and the cold would soon come down, and then the world would be gone and it would matter not who sat on the throne.

He heard movement downstairs, where Richard and Myles were, his two former squires were both close friends or as close as Rhaegar would allow them to be and had come with him on his way north, though neither had truly known why he had gone north in the first place, and now they were part of his plan. He eased Lyanna off of him and stood up off the mattress and opened the door closing it softly behind him, Lyanna continued to slumber peacefully. He walked down the stairs his robe wrapped around him. “Friends what is the matter?” he asked as he entered the room where the noise was coming from.

Richard looks up at him then concern etched on his face, Richard was always prone to drink but now he seems stone cold sober. “My prince.... we’ve had word from Nightsong.” Rhaegar nods and signals for him to continue. “Your father gathered the swords of the crownlands and sent them out under the leadership of Owen Merryweather, a host of men under Ser Axel Florent rode through the woods and joined them on their march. There was battle at High Heart Merryweather is dead the army was slaughtered or scattered and Jon Connington has been captured.”

Rhaegar sighs. “And what does Lord Caron have to say about this?”

Richard speaks once more. “He and his men are being summoned to King’s Landing as part of the force your father wishes to send to deal with King Aemon. He has also somehow been led to believe that we are at Nightsong and is demanding you return to King’s Landing.”

Rhaegar sighs. “The spider is the one telling him that. Has my father rallied Dorne as well?”

“Yes my prince.” Richard says. “That was why I and Myles were arguing. Prince Oberyn is the one leading the Dornish host that will soon be passing by the tower, and he will not fail to see us here. I was saying that must go to Nightsong and then march from there before Oberyn can make it there, otherwise blood will be spilt.”

“And I was arguing that we cannot leave now, not when there is so much chaos in the realm and Caron is himself of uncertain loyalty.” Myles said his voice loud.

“We shall not be doing either of those things.” Rhaegar says in a commanding tone. “We shall be leaving the tower tomorrow morning at first light, and we shall leave Lyanna with my great aunt at Vulture’s Roost. And from there we shall ride hard for Summerhall and join with the host under Mace Tyrell’s command and fight Robert Baratheon.”

“Is leaving the lady Lyanna at Vulture’s Roost a good idea my prince?” Richard asks. “After all your great aunt is not exactly as she was some time ago, and Vulture’s Roost is a ruin besides.”

“It must be Vulture’s Roost for Lyanna’s safety, my aunt will not harm her.” Rhaegar says and the matter ends there. The next morning all four of them are saddled and ready, they ride in silence through the hot sun for Vulture’s Roost, when they arrive Rhaegar sees his great aunt and uncle waiting for him. “My lady,” Rhaegar says bowing before her. “I have come just as you asked. And I have brought Lyanna.”

His aunt is silent for a long time before replying. “Very well, leave her and go now. Oberyn Martell will be here soon it is time you left.”

Rhaegar nods and then turns to Lyanna. “You will be safe here my love. I shall return for you once this is all done.” He kisses her, then mounts his horse and rides away.

As it turns out, the Tyrell host is not camped at Summerhall but at Ashford. Rhaegar thanks the gods for that, he did not thing he could face having to speak with his mother or his wife now, not after what has happened. At first none of the men recognise him, his hair is still black as coal, from the dye he has been using, but then Ser Damon Fire, a man who Rhaegar grew up with sees Richard and bellows hellos at them and drags them over to the command tent. Mace Tyrell is a tall man, with strong arms and the beginnings of a belly, beside him are Matthis Rowan and Lord Alester Florent. They all stop talking when they see him, all bow their heads and then Rhaegar asks. “I expected to find you at Summerhall my lords.”

Rhaegar can tell all three men want to say they thought he’d be in King’s Landing but they hold their tongues and Tyrell says. “We did not wish to impose on your mother my prince. We have been camped here and have sent some men out to harass any supplies that Robert Baratheon might have. The lords of Stonehelm, Blackhaven and Mistwood joined our company some days ago. And we know the Dornish are marching through the passes now.”

“What of Robert Baratheon?” Rhaegar asks.

Matthis Rowan is the one to reply to that question. “Baratheon is camped on the banks of the Blueburn, word from Summerhall was that he was grievously wounded in the fight against Prince Aelix. He is waiting for reinforcements from the north we believe. And his own men are either dying or bleeding away. Storm’s End remains under siege.”

“How many men did you bring with you my lord?” Rhaegar asks.

Lord Mace looks at the map in front of him and then says. “20,000 my prince. Ser Axel had some of our best swords but they were crushed at High Heart.” He says that looking bitterly at Lord Alester.

“What of Lords Tarly and Hightower what have they decided?” Rhaegar asks.

“They are trying to muster men for Aemon Targaryen my prince. So far they have not been so successful.” Matthis Rowan says.

“Very well,” Rhaegar says. “Lord Rowan I want you to take some 6,000 men with you and lay siege to Storm’s End from the ground. Once we have defeated Robert Baratheon more men shall join you.”

“Is that wise my prince?” Rowan asks.

“It is the only course to tempt Robert Baratheon into doing something rash.” Rhaegar replies hoping he is right, and he has not gambled it all for nothing.


	45. Greysteel

**Ser Garth ‘Greysteel’ Hightower**

It was a strange feeling being the second son, he had never expected to inherit anything truly, Oldtown was big enough that his father would not really need to give him a holdfast or any other such holdings, he would most likely have been given a job and a house within the city or continued to live in the Hightower. And then he had been wed to Janna Tyrell, the sister of Mace Tyrell Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. The marriage had come as a surprise to both Garth and his father, the voice of Oldtown Lord Leyton Hightower, Mace was already wed to Garth’s older sister Alerie, a love match more than anything and so House Hightower had been content with knowing the future generation of Tyrells would be half Hightower, this proposal had truly come out of the middle of nowhere.

And then Garth had thought about it, and it had all made sense. Mace Tyrell was nothing but ambitious and his mother the Queen of Thorns was all for furthering the status of House Tyrell. It was no secret that Garth having spent his childhood in King’s Landing was close to King Aemon, and now that the King was finally coming towards the age of maturity, no doubt the Tyrells wanted to have an ear with the king. After all their bid for more power by siding with Aerys during the struggles, had not exactly paid off, Aerys slipping further and further into madness and it was all a big mess.

Garth’s wife was a nice lady, if somewhat shy. Though when she opened her mouth to speak, you listened for what she said always made sense and was always interesting. Garth who having grown up in King’s Landing but by virtue of being a Hightower was quite book smart revelled in having a companion with whom he could discuss some of the more intricate points of life and the works that they read without being laughed at, as had so often happened in King’s Landing when he had tried such a thing with the king, Brandon or Elbert.

He was fond of her if nothing else, he was not quite sure what love was to be perfectly honest. Oh he had seen it for sure in the way the king looked at the queen, but he had never really experienced it preferring to immerse himself in his books and his sword play. Women were just there, a nuisance unless they served a particular purpose; he was not one for wenching nor for love songs of any kind. He did often wonder why it were that his friends, his best friends were the types to indulge in those sort of things, and once again pondered the meaning of life.

Of course the war had then broken out, the war they had all thought inevitable once Harrenhal had failed. Aerys had led a coup on Aemon and the king’s brother Viserys was killed and banners were called and the kingdoms were in chaos. Mace Tyrell the bumbling idiot had declared for Aerys, despite the man being mad as a hatter and his son Rhaegar have absconded with a noble lady. All to have his infant daughter as queen Alerie wrote, she begged her family to remain neutral until the war was further on, and so Lord Leyton had for once decided to listen to his children and the Hightowers had remained neutral until now.

The Reach was burning because of Mace’s folly, men were dying and women and children were suffering through a drought that had not been seen since the struggles. It was chaos and Lord Leyton had eventually declared enough was enough and had called his banners and together with Lord Randyll Tarly they had combined forces and marched on a raiding campaign of the Tyrell Loyalists houses. Taking their food and gold, and taking their castles one by one until Mace Tyrell the fat oaf felt threatened enough to come rushing back from the south. Highgarden was the target, capture Highgarden and Mace Tyrell would come rushing back for what was a lord without his seat of power.

Garth’s father had fallen in combat against the Lords of the Shield Islands, taking a severe wound to the chest that had eventually cost him his life. Garth’s elder brother Baelor was now Lord of Oldtown and the Hightower. His brother was many things, a joker, a smart and cunning man but a warrior he was not, and so Baelor had given Garth the command over the main body of troops and taken a small number to put the Shield Islands to the sword. News had come in then from the north, battles at High Heart and at Argilac’s Rock had been fought and Robert Baratheon was injured or he was dead, and Storm’s End was under siege from both land and sea. That idiot Redwyne ruining his chances of a pardon once the war was done.

Garth ran a hand over his beard, and looked at the letter that had arrived from Oldtown some days past, it was written in Janna’s slanting hand. She wrote of how the docks of Oldtown buzzed with news about the east and the supposed emergence of a dragon emperor in Essos and the retreating threat of the Dothraki. Of how there were pirates raiding in the Stepstones and how Balon Greyjoy still refused to heed the King’s calls to arms. And she wrote of how she had given birth to twins, a boy and a girl, the boy had her curly brown hair and his sharp blue eyes had been named Mern, the girl had his dark black hair and her rose brown eyes and had been named Naerys. It was a strange feeling knowing he was a father and that he would most likely not see his children for another few months at least or maybe not ever if all should go wrong.

He shook his head to remove it of such thoughts; it would do him no good to dwell on such things. Instead he looked at the map on the table before him and examined it. They were currently camped on the south eastern bank of the Mander; Highgarden could be seen from their tents, atop a hill on the crest of where the Gardener kings had become followers of the Seven. Mace Tyrell was marching south with great haste according to their scouts, with an unknown number of men. It would make no matter the man was not known as Lord Puff Fish for nothing, he would have left some sort of important weapon behind with Rhaegar, and that would be used against him.

“How long do you think it will be before they are on us?” Garth startled at the sound of his brother Gunthor’s voice. Gunthor was built a lot like their father, with strong shoulders and a bull like strength. His brother was just fourteen but had proven himself worthy of a knighthood from Randyll Tarly for his efforts against the remaining Florents.

Garth was silent for a moment and then said. “I know not brother. They could be upon us in four days or four hours. Mace Tyrell left no men spare in Highgarden, his impatience to come back and save his seat will be his downfall.”

“Are you certain that Mace has not left anyone there for us to deal with? I mean he might not have the sense to do so, but his mother most certainly would have.” Gunthor asked.

Garth sighed. “I know not how reliable she is now that she is married to the fool, but Alerie wrote to Baelor when Mace left and told him that the man had left no reinforcements in Highgarden, and any that might have been called upon from the rest of the Reach are either with him or with us.”

Garth can tell his brother is about to respond when a squire enters the tent. “My lords sorry to disturb you, but Lord Tarly has requested your presence in the command tent.” They both nod and leave Garth’s tent and head to the command tent that proudly displays the red three headed dragon of House Targaryen on a field of black, the sigil of the true king, Aemon.

Lord Randyll, is a strong man with a good military mind even if he is a bit more ruthless than Garth finds necessary. Still he is sat looking at them with a most frustrated look on his face. Once both Garth and his brother have sat down Lord Tarly speaks. “My scouts have returned my lords. Lord Tyrell is two hours ride away from us.”

Silence and then. “How did he manage to cross through and why has he not bulked up Highgarden?” Gunthor asks.

“His men in Highgarden provided him with barges with which to ferry some of the men across. He has some 20,000 men with him 5,000 of which Rhaegar Targaryen gave him from the Stormlords force that was defeated at Blueburn.” Tarly replies.

“Did your scout say how many men these barges could transport?” Garth asks.

“Some 9 or 10,000 men my lord. They are bloody big barges.” Tarly states.

Garth nods and then says. “Very well we still outnumber him by some four thousand or more men. We must ride towards where his men are offloading and attack them before they can gather together.”

And so they do, it takes sometime but eventually the army of House Hightower and House Tarly, numbering some 15,000 men is fully assembled and ready to march. Lord Tarly leads the van, Garth leads the left, Lord Beesbury the right, and the reserve commanded by their uncle Ser Guyard Flowers. They march quickly barely stopping to look at the way the current flows, all of them determined to get to the Tyrell host before it gets to them and pushes them back into the water.

They find the Tyrell men disembarking near the bend of the Mander where it would shape to flow into the Sunset Sea. Their men look exhausted and harried as if their nightlong marches are finally beginning to take their toll. Garth and his men wait in the bushes waiting for the signal, and then when Mace Tyrell disembarks huffing and puffing, Garth draws his sword from its sheath and roars a challenge that is answered by war horn after war horn and the battle of the Mander begins.

They meet in a crash of steel on steel, Garth swinging his sword like a man possessed. Hacking and cutting, this is not like fighting someone in the training yard nor is it truly like the melee, this is the proper thing and it feels like it. Everything seems to pass by in a blur, one minute he is hacking and slashing at a giant of a man, the next minute the man is dead his body being pulled down by the current of the Mander.

He does not truly have time to ponder how things are moving so fast, he simply accepts it and moves onto the next fight and the next foe. Swinging, hacking, slashing, cutting and ducking. He kills a man bearing the coat of arms of the red apple Fossoways. Brings down a man bearing the arms of House Meadows. His sword is covered in blood, his armour as well, his body aches with exhaustion, his mind is weary and his limbs are numb and yet on he goes through the current of the Mander, and the water lapping at his horse’s legs when he comes across his goodbrother.

Mace Tyrell seems weighed down by his armour and the number of wounds he has. He is bleeding quite profusely, and yet he still staggers through the waters, his sword raised high cutting down men left and right. Garth will give him that, but he is a traitor to the rightful king and he must die. So he spurs his horse on to make the fight fair dismounts from his own horse, unsheathes his sword and begins the dance of death with his goodbrother. The dance can have only one winner, and as such today it is Garth Hightower who emerges victorious, he is less tired than his goodbrother and put more hours into sword practice. Where Tyrell hacks, Hightower slashes, and on it goes until Garth slashes the throat of his goodbrother and Mace Tyrell’s blood turns the water of the Mander red.

Victory and Highgarden belong to the Hightowers now.


	46. Only

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

His eye stung, or rather the gap where his right eye used to be stung. Ever since that gods damned blade had cut his eye out, the gap it had left behind alternated between a numb feeling and excruciating pain. Maester Geribald the maester at the Rock had given him an ointment to apply to the outer eye that he said might help with the pain, and to be fair his eye had not hurt so much at the Rock as it did now, though whether that was because he had stopped applying the ointment or because Ashara was no longer there to comfort him when the pain got too much he was not sure.

He had not seen his wife nor his son for a year now, they had left in the early days of last year when it had all still seemed so unreal, his son would be about a year old now, nearly two if he remembered correctly. He had been in King’s Landing when his son had been born, trying unsuccessfully to remove Aerys from power. All that had brought him was this current war, no matter how many times Brandon or Elbert told him that the war would have been inevitable anyway, he felt responsible if he had acted before Harrenhal perhaps none of this mess would have happened.

He shook his head and his eye throbbed with pain once more. Since that day they had set out from the Rock with 30,000 swords Tywin and Jaime Lannister by his side, they had gone to Riverrun where they had been joined by the Starks and the might of the north. Hoster Tully had done what he had not done before the war, he had declared for Aemon. Brandon the younger had wed Catelyn Tully the eldest of Hoster’s two daughters, with Lysa Tully marrying Andar Royce in the sept at Riverrun. The ceremonies had dragged on a bit, and the feast afterwards had seemed to teem with forced joy, Aemon was of the opinion that they should have been planning for war not celebrating a wedding, and that Hoster Tully should have declared for him from the start and not forced two weddings before declaring. He would remember that for the rest of his days, and he would make the old man remember it as well.

With the weddings out of the way they had set about planning their next move. Aerys had appointed Lord Owen Merryweather his hand, the man was nothing but a soothsayer and as such the man was ill-equipped to lead the army he had been given. The true threat was the man who would be commanding Merryweather’s van, Lord Jon Connington, a fierce warrior and proud and smart. It was agreed that their forces would not all deploy at once, some men would be left to hold Riverrun and the Lion’s pass, whilst others would circumvent round the Red Fork and flank the rebel host. This had been done, with Lord Hoster being the man to lead his riverlords all 11,000 of them around the Red Fork and smashing the left side of the rebel host to pieces. Aemon had taken command of some 12,000 men a mixture of westermen and Valemen and marched to High Heart where the main battle had occurred between his host and the right of Lord Merryweather’s host, which was commanded by Merryweather himself.

Looking back on it now the victory over the Merryweather’s own part of the army had been far too easy; it was almost as if Merryweather had been instructed to lose. His men had been slaughtered and he had led Aemon on a goose chase around the fringes of the Children’s wood, before eventually being slain in single combat, Aemon had returned with Merryweather’s head, to find the ground where his men and the rebel right had fought a smoking ruin but with his men, Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin especially, huddled round a body. For a minute he feared that something terrible had happened, and then squashed that but one look at Jaime’s face and his fears came rushing back. He had pushed past the two men and stood in shock and horror as he looked down at the body of his brother Baelon.

He would later here of how the rebel’s van and centre had joined together to form a wheel formation, one that continuously rotated preventing any of Aemon’s generals from breaking the rebel host and making them flee. His brother having learnt of this tactic from their uncle as a child had volunteered himself as the one who would be able to break the wheel, and give them the prisoners they wanted. Desperate for anyway to break the wheel, Tywin and the other commanders had agreed, and so Baelon had cut through most of the ground soldiers and then had broken the first three fronts of the wheel, but because he had gone so quickly he had not given Tywin or anyone else the chance to come and back him up. His brother ended up being massacred in the fifth and final front of the wheel by Jon Connington, Lord Chelstead, Lord Celtigar, Lord Bar Emmon and Lord Massey.

Connington had eventually been captured and Celtigar and Emmon slain, Massey had fled with the remenants of Merryweather’s host back to King’s Landing. But Aemon was angry and grieving, his brother had died needlessly and he had followed his own selfish path to chase glory and kill Merryweather on his own, he should have been with his brother. Still he got his chance for revenge a few moons later when camped at Rushing Falls, a host led by Ser Preston Greenfield of Aerys Kingsguard came charging towards them, Aemon had the entire army butchered sparing not a soul, in vengeance for what had happened to his brother.

They had been camped at Rushing Falls ever since, seeing off bandits and any stray rebels that came their way. News had been thin at first but then it picked up. They learnt of the battles in the Stormlands of Robert Baratheon’s death and Rhaegar’s re-emergence, of Mace Tyrell’s death and the capture of Highgarden. And they learnt of how Rhaegar was now amassing men from the remaining Crownland forces and with the host of reachmen not in the south and Dornish spears and marching towards the Trident, or towards them. Ser Gerold had returned from their search for Lyanna Stark, according to them the girl had been in Vulture’s Roost with that mad old woman Dallyria Targaryen, the daughter of Daeron the drunkard. The girl was pregnant with Rhaegar’s child and claimed she wanted to keep the child and wanted Rhaegar spared; at least the two knights had had the good sense to keep the girl in Nightsong and away from any other potential threats, as Ser Oswell was with her.

“Your Grace?” he hears a voice ask. “Your Grace are you well?” this time he recognises the voice. It’s Tywin Lannister pulling him back to reality.

Aemon shakes his head and sees Lord Tywin, Ser Jaime, Lord Rickard, Brandon, Lord Hoster, Lord Jon and Elbert all looking at him concern on their faces. He realises then that he must have gone away again, and that they all must think him mad or touched. He sighs. “I am fine my lord. Now what were you saying?”

Lord Tywin makes what could be a smile before saying. “Our scouts report that Rhaegar Targaryen has finally moved from King’s Landing and has made camp on the eastern bank of the Trident. With him he has some 30,000 men made up of reachmen, Stormlords, Dornishmen and men from the crownlands.”

Aemon nods and then asks. “Why did he not just come here to Rushing Falls if he has so many men? Surely he knows how long it would take for our host to assemble affectively to mount a retaliatory attack.”

Lord Hoster speaks then, his voice soothing through the nerves wracking Aemon. “Because Your Grace, to attack a host on the falls would require some secrecy and much forward planning. Skills that we have seen Prince Rhaegar does not have. He will stake his army on the fact that we cannot play the waiting game anymore than he can, and that we will march for the Trident to face him in battle.”

Aemon ponders this for a moment before asking. “So then, if we do not want to fall into any trap my cousin would set for us, what would you suggest we do then Lord Hoster?”

The man is silent for a moment before he replies. “Well I would suggest sending men who know the area well enough to lead a foraging campaign to draw Rhaegar’s men out and have them set upon by the larger hosts. But considering my men did take a battering during the previous battle I would have to suggest another lead the forage.”

 _Oh you clever man, get out of yet another blood bath whilst retaining the facade of loyalty._ Aemon thought. Aloud he merely said. “Lord Rickard, you and yours fought bravely during the battle of High Heart. You and the northmen shall lead the foraging and draw my cousin out his hiding place.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Lord Rickard solemnly replies.

“Lord Hoster, I want your best men sent to aid the northmen as they go out and forage for us.” Aemon says. Tully nods.

They set out a few hours later quick marching to make it to the western bank of the trident before the sun sets and winter comes. They arrive about five days later just as the sun is waning in the sky, and the air becomes chillier. The northmen managed to lead the Stormlords away from Rhaegar’s camp striking out on their southern flank and butchering them near the God’s Willow, some were injured but the rest were led back by Brandon to ensure they could fight in the remainder of the battle. Across the river, Aemon can see his cousin’s banner flapping and he feels anger boil up inside of him, taking advantage of a little girl, a girl who will likely die giving birth to the child. What a fool, his cousin who for so long had been his hero is a fool, it saddens him that he will have to kill Rhaegar tomorrow.

Morning comes with the blowing of horns, and it seems as though the enemy has stirred first, they are tromping their way through the waters of the Trident towards them, Aemon is armour and ready to go in quick time, his heart pounding he puts on his dragon helm, mounts his red warhorse and then shouts for all to hear. “Let us kill these rebels and seat the rightful people back where they should be!” a cheer and then the battle commences. It is bloody carnage out there though they might outrank the rebels, the rebels are fighting as if they have nothing to lose and truly they don’t their lost already. Aemon cuts through half the rebel forces he comes across, Blackfyre singing with the bloodshed, and then he cuts down two false white knights he will later learn their names to be Ser Boros Blount and Ser Meryn Trant.

The fighting continues, all around men are screaming and dying and crying, but he has eyes only for his cousin who has come in front of him, his black armour covered in blood and dirt. “Cousin,” Rhaegar calls. “I had thought a peace could be had between us.”

“Peace?” Aemon bellows. “Have you taken leave of your senses? I will have no peace with a rapist and a man whose father is a traitor. Prepare to die cousin.”

He does not bother waiting for Rhaegar’s response he spurs his horse on and charges at his cousin. For the first and only time in history, Blackfyre and Dark Sister fight each other in battle, and so the song begins again. Steel, sparks, hacks, cuts, blood, dirt, wounds, dents it all happens on the banks of the Trident, furiously paced, but on it goes as King Aemon using the advantages of youth swings and swings and swings, until his cousin is a bloody mess.

With one sharp thrust he pierces Rhaegar’s armour, and then pulls out and pierces the armour again and again until his sword is drenched in blood and Rhaegar Targaryen no longer moves. On the third day of the second month of the 282nd year after Aegon’s Landing, Aemon Targaryen kills Rhaegar Targaryen, and the war of dragons comes to a near close. Victory is insight, ad salutant regem.


	47. Bleeding

**Grand Maester Pycelle.**

For neigh on twenty five years he had served as Grand Maester, serving during the later troubles that followed that bright young man’s death, till now the reign of the true king Aemon. Aerys Targaryen had very little support, even before he had become mad following Duskendale, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms had despised him, for the man was a cruel and sadistic person who revelled in torture and other unspeakable things. That he had usurped the crown had come as no surprise to Pycelle, he had seen the hunger and the desire for what being king meant, in Aerys Targaryen’s eyes over the years, that his mother was a Blackfyre and his father Prince Jaehaerys only strengthened the desire.

Pycelle had tried to warn King Aegyl, and though the king had taken him seriously and had done things to ensure Aerys power was limited, that he had not left a will nor done more to ensure the safety of his wife and children, had allowed Aerys to assume power through the struggles and through having that damnable eunuch on his side. Pycelle did not trust Varys, had not trusted him since the moment he had walked into the small council chamber to present himself before the regent and the hand. There was something off about him, and it was not just the fact that he had no balls, he simpered and then he would growl, but where was his bark and where was his bite, Pycelle often wondered.

The war of the dragons had many contributing factors, not least of all Aerys having most of King Aemon’s men butchered before the king had even been able to process all that was happening. There was Prince Rhaegar’s abduction of Lady Lyanna Stark, Robert Baratheon calling his banners and not declaring which side he was fighting for and then of course there was the brutal murder of Prince Viserys, the king’s own brother and the capturing of Dragonstone and the holding of Queen Dowager Alyssa and Prince Lucerys. Pycelle knew that the king was not like to forgive the men responsible for inflicting such tragedies on his family, the King had always been a carefree child but as he had grown older and wiser and the full weight of what was expected of him became more evident, he grew serious and stubborn and proud. Pycelle pitied those who would continue to stand in his path.

The war had gone from bad to worse for the usurper, Aerys’ son continued to remain in hiding whilst the fighting raged on around them. The Stormlands saw the most action, Robert Baratheon son of the usurper’s cousin Steffon Baratheon fought in three battles winning two of them and losing the one battle in which Prince Rhaegar returned for. The battle of the Blueburn was by all accounts bloody and violent and when Stag and dragon met in the river, the dragon triumphed and Robert Baratheon’s blood ran red. Aerys when he had heard had sat silently for a moment and then said. “I will write the words to Steffon. He should hear it from me.” Through the haze of his madness the king was still the same child who had grown up with his cousins, and loved them though his madness often prevented him from seeing that.

More news came through from the field, High Heart, Rushing Falls, the Mander all of it spelling the end of Aerys time on the throne. The usurper grew more and more paranoid, not allowing any blades in his presence apart from those of his Kingsguard. The seven he had chosen for his Kingsguard, Ser Preston Greenfield, Ser Donnet Rykker, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Doltos Velaryon, and Ser Dontos Merribald and by force Prince Lewyn Martell. Prince Lewyn was not aware of his forced appointment to the usurper’s Kingsguard, for he remained in comfortable captivity in Summerhall, where the usurper’s grandchildren continued to live and thrive. The knights who attended the king were no true knights, knaves and cravens and bullies the lot of them. Greenfield, Trant and Blount had died at Rushing Falls and the Trident. Rykker dying at High Heart, the battle that saw the exile of the rest of the Merryweather family.

The trident, news from that deciding battle had arrived some three weeks ago, and since then the usurper had grown more and more fearful. Rhaegar was dead slain by King Aemon, and the smallfolk and nobles alike whispered that it was a sign from the gods that the true king was returning to exact a bloody vengeance on those who had betrayed him. Those nobles who had come to court when Aerys had had himself crowned, had come for Rhaegar not for Aerys, and for power, now that was out of their grasp and they had fled back to their hovels for fear of what the true king would do to them once he came back and reclaimed the city.

Aerys himself had decided to take his frustration and fear out by burning those nobles who displeased him, after High Heart the new lord Merryweather had been burnt alive for the failures of his father, the boy lord was sent across the narrow sea with his family, Lord Chelstead the next hand was burnt alive after the failure of the Trident, and Ser Damascus Dayne of High Hermitage was burnt alive when news of the Dornish joining King Aemon reached their ears. The usurper was a king without a hand, though that pyromancers Rossart continued to whisper in his ear about wildfire and other dangerous things. Pycelle knew from looking over the accounts with Ser Myles Rosby that the usurper had paid vast sums of money for wildfire to be installed around the city. Pycelle had acted as quickly as he could and most of the jars had not been installed as those tasked with their installation were slain or bribed out of the city. Aerys might think he controlled the city watch, but there were those who still knew what honour and loyalty was.

Still this latest summons to court had him worried, he knew not what Aerys wanted nor whether he would be the one to burn next, and just in case the man went through with burning the city he knew that he had his poisons and potions up his sleeves ready for whatever scenario might be thrown toward him. Though he prayed to the seven that no such thing arose for he despised those cravens who used a woman’s work, if need be the gold cloaks would turn on Aerys, but how quickly they would was another matter. He entered the throne room and found it largely deserted apart from Velaryon and Merribald present standing in front of the throne where the usurper was slumped. Varys stood in the shadows waiting and watching. Pycelle bowed and said. “You asked and I have come Your Grace.”

Pycelle sees Aerys sit up then, cutting himself on the throne as he does so. His voice is weedy when he speaks. “Ah Pycelle, Grand Maester and sworn to obey whoever sits the throne. Tell me Pycelle, how loyal have you been to my family?”

Pycelle swallows and then says. “Very loyal Your Grace. I have done all in my power to give good counsel and see to it that the royal family has been treated to the best care possible.”

Aerys eyes seem to bulge out his sockets they are so big. “Ah you see Varys, he says royal family. But I asked about my family Pycelle not that brat Aemon’s. Have you done all in your power to ensure the continuation of my line? The rightful line.”

 _You will never be the rightful king, nor shall your grandson. Usurpers the lot of you._ Pycelle thinks. Aloud he merely asks. “I do not understand Your Grace.”

This causes Aerys to laugh and Varys to titter. “Oh now he does not understand. I asked if you had been trying to make sure if my wife could conceive no other children in the times she was here. Before the war she came here four times, each time we coupled and no children resulted from it. I know she saw you for advice, and I know you prescribed her moon tea on two occasions. So tell me Pycelle how well have you served my family?”

Pycelle swallowed how Aerys had found out about that, the Princess had told no one else about the moon tea, and the he looked at Varys and saw the eunuch hiding a sly smile. _One day I shall get you back for this you bastard._ “Your Grace is mistaken. I did not force anything on to Princess Rhaella; she merely asked for some moon tea for her friends, I did not give her anything to remove the potential heir from her body.”

Aerys snorts this time. “Oh come now Pycelle you are going to have to do better than that. Why I have not fed the dragon yet, and the dragon is always hungry. Perhaps the flames will do for you.”

Before Pycelle can beg for a reprieve, Manly Stokeworth the commander of the city watch stumbles, in his armour covered in blood and dirt and mud. “Your Grace....” he pants. “Army at the gates..... King Aemon.” Stokeworth keels over and dies there and then.

Aerys eyes widen further than even Pycelle thought possible. “At the gates? Who is at the gates. Ser Dontos go and find out, and if one of those cravens tries to open the gates kill them.” The white knight nods and leaves the throne room, walking past the body of Manly Stokeworth without a second thought.

They wait in silence for a long moment before the white knight enters the throne room covered in dirt and blood. “They have climbed the walls Your Grace. Lannister, Stark, Tully and Arryn banners Your Grace. The men are climbing and the city watch are losing heart.”

“And the boy?” the usurper yelled. “Where is the boy?”

Velaryon shook slightly then. “The boy is not there, I know not where he is.”

Silence and then “Well go and find him and stop jabbering on like the mindless craven your father was!” Aerys shouts. Velaryon bows and then hurries to leave.

“So the boy has finally come. Very well. Merribald go and find Rossart and bring him here. Pycelle bring me a drink.” Aerys says his voice beginning to waver.

Pycelle nods and scurries out of the throne room to his own chambers, picks up a glass and pours some wine into it, and then slips a few drops of the strangler into the drink, swirling the drink around a bit to hide the colour of the poison he smells it briefly. Only wine can be smelt, that is good, he scurries back into the throne room. Merribald has not returned, but Varys and the king are conversing about something serious. “Your drink Your Grace.” Pycelle says, bowing before the steps, Aerys nods to Varys who scurries down the steps and hands the usurper the drink.

Aerys takes a deep swig of the wine, smacks his lips and then says. “Ah is this Dornish? Such good wine, from such a barbarous and traitorous people. Such a sha.....” he trials off and the cup soon drops from his hand cluttering down to the ground. The usurper puts his hands to his throat, and makes a gagging sound, both Pycelle and Varys look at each other, Aerys continues making choking noises for about two minutes and then he slumps forward and falls of the throne.

“Very nicely done Maester Pycelle. I could not have done it better myself. And now our king will not have to worry about being accused of being a twice accursed kinslayer.” Varys purrs.

Pycelle is silent for a moment and prays to gods he has not thought of in sometime. Aerys Targaryen died on the fifth day of the third month of the 282nd year after Aegon’s Landing, he was forty years old. The war of the dragons was at an end. For when Aemon Targaryen and his men entered the throne room they found Aerys body at the foot of the steps and Pycelle and Varys speaking in hushed tones. 


	48. A Kraken Amongst Dragons

**Victarion Greyjoy**

It felt good to be free and able to move around again. He had spent a whole year inside the black cells and during that time there had been periods when he had thought he might very well die in the cells. Aerys Targaryen the usurper had had him thrown into the black cells due to a fear that he might try and take the Royal Fleet and use it to help the rightful king and Victarion’s nephew Aemon. Aerys had come up with some trumped charge and had him thrown into the black cells, and on occasion would come down to visit him, usually on the days that Victarion was taken out of the cell for questioning. Victarion never knew who it was who was questioning him or using those bloody pincers to get him to scream in pain, for they often wore hoods, and it was usually Aerys cackling about fire or what not that prevented Victarion from blacking out from pain, he had sworn to kill whoever it was that had willingly done the madman’s work.

It seemed as if that was something his nephew had also sworn as well. Aemon had always been a bright and active child filled with fire that was oftentimes Targaryen in nature, but as of late Victarion had seen the spark of his sister Alyssa in her son. For the punishments that had been enacted on those nobles who had willingly sided with Aerys and urged him onto to commit the atrocities that he had committed were either gelded, sent to the Night’s Watch, beheaded or had their lands and titles confiscated from them. Men such as Lord Rosby lost the vast amount of their wealth and lands, whilst others such as Lord Rykker were pardoned but had some of their more profitable lands taken and made part of the crown’s own dominions. Others such as Jon Connington received pardons and had lands taken as well as hostages given up to the throne. Aemon had named his friend, Garth Hightower the new Lord of Highgarden and had the fat flower’s children attainted of their rights to the castle, giving them a manor house and some lands near the Mander, but nothing too substantial. Willas and Garlan Tyrell were to be fostered in King’s Landing to grow up alongside the king’s youngest and only surviving brother Lucerys Targaryen.

Amongst the other rebels, such as House Florent, they were down to just one or two members, the other male claimants were either dead or exiled to the wall, the female claimants married off to those who had served the king loyally and truthfully. Brightwater Keep was given to Randyll Tarly as were all its lands and incomes. The king had also decreed that House Redwyne were to be stripped of their lands in the arbor and Lord Paxter Redwyne was to be sent to the wall. The man still laid siege to Storm’s End despite having no ground support and despite the fact that the war was over, most definitely. Victarion knew that his nephew had sent the man a raven reminding him of this fact and warning him of what would happen should he continue resisting. The man continued, and so Aemon had tasked Victarion with taking the Royal Fleet and “burning every single one of their ships.” Aemon it seemed would be kind and friendly to those who had been loyal to him, but those who had rebelled and done so out of their own choice he would punish, and Lord Redwyne was one such example.

The Targaryens of Summerhall were pardoned for as Aemon had said. “They took no part in Aerys or Rhaegar’s folly.” And so Prince Aegon was confirmed as Prince of Summerhall and when he turned eight would be sent to foster in King’s Landing alongside the king’s own son Prince Maekar. Princess Rhaenys had been betrothed to Tywin Lannister’s grandson Tygett Lannister who was currently just two years old. All of this sat well with the council and showed them that the King was just and noble though he did have a wrath for those who did not comply with what he asked of them.

One such example was Victarion’s own brother and the Lord of the Iron Islands. Balon Greyjoy had refused to respond to any of the summons that the king had sent him during the war, and Victarion for one could not understand why his brother would do such a thing. For as long as he had known Balon, his older brother had always placed a deep importance on family and making sure that they were done right by, however, it seemed such a thing mattered not when one member was a ‘greenlander” Victarion was only surprised that Aemon had not enacted a harsher punishment on Balon and the islands, perhaps Alyssa had more influence over her son than Victarion had first thought. His sister had returned to court for the first time in six years some two moons ago, and had come to see Lucerys her youngest child settled in at court, the reunion between the king and his mother had been strained after all Alyssa had as good as abandoned Aemon when he was a boy.

Still they seemed to be getting over those events and seemed to be operating as a family, well what was left of it anyway. Those thoughts brought Victarion to the matter of the Stark girl. Lyanna Stark had willingly left with Rhaegar Targaryen, despite being betrothed to Robert Baratheon, and though that action had not sparked the war it was certainly seen as very unhonourable and slanderous, though of course none so much as voiced their disapproval to the Starks or to the King. This was because Lyanna Stark had died giving birth to a stillborn girl, it seemed that the strains of giving birth at such a young age were too much for the young wolf maid, and as such her body could not deal with the stress either. The king had said a few simple words to Victarion when asked. “She died in a bed of blood nuncle.” The king had not gone with the Starks to get the girl, for she had been left in Nightsong, though he had stayed up to the early hours drinking with them when they came back to give him the news.

“My lord,” the voice of Nute the Barber brought him out of his reverie. “There is a man who wishes to speak with you. We apprehended his ship; he claims to know a way of sneaking past the Redwyne fleet.”

They had set sail from King’s Landing nearly two moons ago, storms and winter setting in had caused their ships to be delayed but they were coming in close to Storm’s End now. “Very well bring him here.” Victarion replied gruffly.

Nute bowed and then returned sometime later with the man, who was slight with an ordinary face, brown hair and a beard already peppered with grey though he could not be older than perhaps Lord Brandon Stark. “My lord,” the man said bowing slightly before saying. “I know you have come from His grace in King’s Landing and I believe I can be of service, for I know of a way to break past the Redwyne Fleet and give aid to Storm’s End.”

“Oh?” Victarion asked intrigued now. “And how would you know about this then if you are no more than a common smuggler?”

The man grinned slightly and said. “I have used it once before, there is a passage through the left side of the blockade that is no longer occupied, Ser Morrigen I believe the man who captained those ships was called has returned home. Redwyne knows not about this just now and so there is a gap there, that can be used for a fast ship to deliver food and supplies.”

“Oh, and I suppose you would want to lead the entrance yourself or show us the way in. And what would you want in exchange for this information?” Victarion asked.

“A chance to speak with the King my lord.” The man said.

“Very well, I shall see what I can do about that. Now what did you say your name was?” Victarion asked, if he was going to follow a smuggler he might as well know the man’s name.

“Davos my lord.” Davos replied.

“Very well Davos, return to your ship and I shall send some of my best men on our fastest ship to follow you.” Victarion replied.

After the man had left Victarion called a meeting of his captains and told them who would follow Davos. Ser Morrigen Caron asked an important question. “Are you sure this man can be trusted my lord? After all he is a smuggler and they are as bad as sellswords.”

Victarion was silent for a moment and then replied. “I learnt a long time ago never to trust anyone who I did not know, but now we must get supplies to Storm’s End before Redwyne knows we are upon him. If the man tries anything kill him. But remember once you have gotten into the entrance, signal your horns and we shall burn the Redwynes to dust.”

After that Victarion armoured himself and got ready for battle, he was not sure whether or not Redwyne would fight, if he did then Victarion would kill him and make him pay for his treason, if not then he would use the wildfire if Redwyne refused to surrender. Nute came back just before they set sail once more. “The fire is in place my lord, ready for the command.”

“Good,” he replied. “Make sure that it is only used after the third horn blast. If they do surrender we shall not need it, if they don’t then three horn blasts and then they go.”

“Yes my lord.” The barber said before bowing and leaving.

Victarion walked to the deck of his ship and commanded the anchor raised and the oars lowered, and as one the royal fleet sailed from where they had been docked for the blockade of Shipbreaker’s bay.  When they arrived they found the Redwyne Fleet surrounding the bay in a sort of circular formation, with Lord Redwyne’s own Grapes of Wrath ship at the front of the formation waiting for them. “By orders of his grace King Aemon Targaryen the first of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, dip your oars and bend the knee and none shall be harmed.” Victarion bellowed across the water.

There was silence and then another voice bellowed. “May we come aboard Ser?”

Victarion looked at his men and then said, “We shall meet on neutral ground, in between our two ships. On cogs.”

And so they did, Victarion and Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard, and two knights who introduced themselves as Ser Mern Redwyne and Ser Garth Tyrell. “I apologise for my lord’s absence. But he has taken ill and will not be able to attend to such matters as this for some time.”

Victarion grunted and stated. “The war is done, Aerys and Rhaegar are dead and the rightful king is sat where he belongs on the Iron Throne. Mace Tyrell is dead, his children attainted of their rights to Highgarden, your liege lord is now Garth Hightower and he and the king both wrote to you demanding the ending of this pointless siege. Why does your lord continue? “

Both men were silent for a long time before Redwyne spoke. “Because there would be no honour in surrendering to a kinslayer my lord. King Aemon killed his kin in Prince Rhaegar and King Aerys. Even if the throne is now his, why should we bend to a man who flaunts the laws of gods and men?”

Victarion feels the anger begin to boil inside of him. “The king has offered your lord good terms for his surrender. He will keep the Arbor and his wealth but only the fleet will be reduced to be less than the royal fleet. These are generous terms and your lord would be smart to accept them.”

Garth Tyrell spoke then. “Whilst those terms are nice, they are not the boy’s to give. Aerys Targaryen promised us more than that for fighting for him and a just cause. We shall not dip our oars nor lower our banners my lord.”

“Then you shall all die, and the Arbor shall go to a more deserving house. You have been warned.” Victarion growled before having his boat rowed back to the ship and climbing back up. Once on deck he bellowed commands. “Have this ship and the others sail back to the outer part of the bay, have Merlon’s Beard, Queen Alysanne, Stormcloud, Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar sail down the mouth of the bay and when signal comes unleash the fire.”

He waited for a few moments once the ships were out on the fringes of the bay and those with the fire had sailed down. He heard the arrows being fired at the ships, and the other ships crashing into them. Waited and waited and then nodded and Nute the Barber blew his horn, once, twice, and then on the third blow, the sea erupted in colour, as the wildfire spread and crushed and burned.

The Redwyne Fleet was reduced to ash and wood, and Lord Paxter Redwyne died on the third day of the eighth month of the 282nd Year after Aegon’s Landing, the War of Dragons officially came to an end on this day. Storm’s End was freed and Davos Seaworth was knighted by Ser Jonothor Darry for providing them with a way to get food and aid to Storm’s End before the inevitable wildfire. A sign had been sent that day; no one would ever again challenge King Aemon, at least no one who was sane.


	49. The Prelude to War

**A Maester’s Interlude Part II**

Following the burning of the Redwyne fleet in the mouth of Shipbreaker’s Bay, his grace King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, officially declared what had come to be known as the War of the Dragons over. Victarion Greyjoy, the master of ships was heralded as a smart and patient man for the fact that he had even bothered with speaking with the representatives that Lord Paxter Redwyne had sent to treat with him, Redwyne would forever been remembered as a fool and an oaf, similar to his cousin and goodbrother Mace Tyrell. Of course those at court and in the Reach who wished to keep their heads and their sanity soon learnt not to speak of those two traitors around either the King or his good friend Lord Garth Hightower, who upon the king’s decree was named Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South.

Lord Garth a stern and taciturn man who rarely smiled, smiled on that day, and was said to smile on each of the births of his children by his wife Janna Tyrell. The lady Janna had already birthed him twins during the war, his eldest son and heir Mern who was betrothed to Lady Alerie’s daughter Margaery, and his eldest daughter Naerys. The Lady Janna gave birth to four more children over the six year period between the ending of the War of Dragons and the beginning of another war. Three boys named: Leyton, Luthor and Lewyn and a daughter named Sylvia.  Garth’s control over the Reach was much more secure than the Tyrells control over the Reach had been, for none dared cross the friend of the King not when he was such a capable commander and well liked amongst those who truly mattered.

Of the other regions of Westeros there was also good news. The king’s best friend, Brandon Stark known to those in King’s Landing as Brandon the younger, had wed Catelyn Tully the pride of the Riverlands before the fighting in the war had begun. Their first born son named Robb after the king of winter of old was born on the third day of the first moon of the 282nd Year after Aegon’s Landing. Following the ending of the war Brandon and his Tully bride returned to Winterfell alongside their son and Brandon’s father Rickard Stark and his younger brother Eddard, they had hoped to bring their sister the wolf maid Lyanna Stark back home with them, but she had died in the birthing bed from complications due being so young, her child stillborn. Brandon and Catelyn had two more children before unrest would hit Westeros once more, two girls named Sansa and Arya, Sansa looked as her mother did with fiery auburn hair and blue eyes, Arya favoured her father and grandfather with a long face and dark grey eyes. Rickard Stark solemn in the knowledge of what his southern ambitions had cost him and his family decided that his second son forever known as the quiet wolf would be wed to one of his bannermen. And so it was that Eddard Stark came to wed Barbrey Ryswell in the dying months of 282 A.L., their son Jon born in Winterfell in the mid months of 283 A.L. Rickard gifted his second son the rebuilt and refurbished three towers of Moat Cailin as his wedding present and seat.

The king’s other close friend, Elbert Arryn who had been betrothed to Cersei Lannister at the beginning of the war, finally wed her in a great ceremony in the Great Sept of Baelor on the fifth moon of 282 A.L. Their son Joffrey Arryn was born in the early days of 283 A.L., brown of hair and green of eye, another son named Artys followed brown of hair and green of eye as well. A daughter named Myrcella was soon born to the couple as well, in 286 A.L. this time yellow of hair and brown of eye. The Vale, one of the few regions not completely troubled by war also saw another wedding take place in its lands, that of Andar Royce the heir to Runestone and Lysa Tully. This wedding is noted for the guest who attended, who shall have some future reference in this telling. Petyr Baelish, the boy who had challenged Brandon Stark for Catelyn’s hand had been invited by Lysa, and though none knew what the lad had been doing in his time since Riverrun, he did attend and soon enough he began working for the Royces improving their finances and gold, before quickly being appointed to managing the coffers of the Vale as a whole. Soon enough his meteoric rise would see him appointed to the small council but that was an issue for another time.

Of House Lannister there was joy a plenty. Tywin Lannister’s line continued to prosper under the love of his son and heir Jaime to the boy’s wife Rhaena. By the time uncertainty crept into Westeros once more, Jaime and Rhaena Lannister had four children, the eldest was a lad named Tygett who was as active as Ser Jaime had been as a youth, then there was Lucion a lad as quiet and thoughtful as Jaime’s younger brother Tyrion, then there was a daughter named Joanna for Jaime’s mother who was ailing in health and then finally there was another daughter named Cerenna who all said would one day grow to be a fine beauty. Tywin’s brothers also had their own children as well all of whom contributed to the legacy of House Lannister, his brother Tygett who had wed Princess Jaehara at the end of the lions war, had four children all of whom were growing and would soon play an important role in the future of House Lannister. Tywin’s brother Kevan had also married and had three sons Lancel, Willem and Martyn, whilst the youngest brother Gerion had three children by his Westerling wife before she passed away from a fever.

The royal family itself was healed, and the rifts that had developed as a result of Aerys and Rhaegar’s madness were forgotten or forgiven. The King and Queen’s love grew with each passing year, and soon enough there were more children who joined Prince Maekar, there were Prince Laenor, Prince Brynden and Princess Daenaerys Stormborn for the storm she was born in. The king’s brother Prince Lucerys moved to King’s Landing following the ending of the war along with the king’s mother, and soon developed into a fine young lad who played with his young nephews and trained and sparred with Garlan and Willas Tyrell, earning his knighthood in the tourney thrown to celebrate the Queen’s birthday two moons into 288 A.L. Lucerys Targaryen was by all accounts a fine swordsman almost as good as his uncle Prince Aenar was said to have been. The Targaryens of Summerhall lived a relatively quiet life, Princess Rhaella now head of that household with her husband and son dead, ensured that scandal and decadence of the past few years was eroded and forgotten and that her grandchildren and gooddaughter had all the comforts they could ever want. The king of course provided for them, and on the occasion when he and the queen would visit it is said that the king, queen and Princess Elia would share the one chamber.

After the years of struggle and then the war itself, the people of Westeros were more than relieved to see peace once more in the kingdoms, and were delighted that their good king Aemon was the one who had brought it to them, not the mad Aerys, who it is said in his final days tried to turn himself into a dragon before dying of poison. Following the burning of the Redwyne Fleet, the Arbor was given to House Cuy, a house that had fought bravely and admirably during the war, the king instructed Lord Brandston that he was to rebuild a war fleet of some fifty ships and no more, for the king would suffer no strength that could match the royal fleet at sea, and even the Ironborn, the Greyjoy felt the king’s wrath in this and all plunder that they took from their reaving  in Essos and the Summer lands 30% of it was to be given to the royal treasury to pay for their nonservice in the war. Balon Greyjoy reluctantly agreed to the terms, not that he had much choice not with a sword perpetually hanging over his head now. There were tourneys that were held to celebrate the ending of the war and the beginning of the new peace. At King’s Landing, Storm’s End, Highgarden, Sunspear, Lannisport and White Harbour great tournaments were held and nobles from all around did attend, Ser Jaime Lannister saw his stock rise during these tourneys winning at King’s Landing twice, at Storm’s End once and at Sunspear. Ser Arthur Dayne won at King’s Landing and at White Harbour whilst the king himself competed at Lannisport and won that tourney.

Across the narrow sea, the descendants of Aerion Targaryen, who King Brynden in his wisdom had seen fit to house and feed, had grown in strength and power, led by their head, Aeron Targaryen, they had adopted the name Brightflame and founded a new house. From Pentos they formed an alliance with its prince, and became the first rulers of the city that would have a inheritance there, the Brightflame empire grew in the years that followed. In 276 when the struggles in Westeros began, the Brightflames added Tyrosh, Myr and Lys to their empire, before heading east. From Lys they took the towns of the Golden Fields by conquest, when Aemon slew Rhaegar on the Trident, after years of fighting Volantis finally fell to the Brightflames. With the city under their command  Aeron Brightflame now thirty and with more children than he knew what to do with used a two prong attack by land and sea to bring Elyria, Tolos and Mantarys under their control. Skirting round the smoking ruins of Valyria and the Smoking Sea they had taken Yunkai when Aeron Brightflame died of wounds taken in battle. His eldest son, fifteen year old Maegor took control then and spent the next two years ending the rebellions led by the harpy. By 288 A.L., Yunkai, Pentos, Volantis, Myr, Tyrosh, Lys, Elyria, Tolos and Mantarys were all under the Brightflames control. Bravos though were eyeing freeing itself and had joined with Lorath and Qohor in an unlikely union and were marching for Yunkai to deal with the threat there and then.

News of the Brightflame Empire reached Westeros and was treated with mixed reactions. Some such as the eunuch Lord Varys tittered and simpered and secretly began plotting for the day the Brightflames would turn their eyes westward, others such as Lord Tywin the hand of the king suggested envoys be sent to bring trade in from the east. And so it was that the Brightflames and the Targaryens began a trade agreement that benefitted both immensely, until it became known that Maegor Brightflame had taken a shadow binder as a wife, that was when the trading stopped and all contact with the east ended. Left in the dark there was nothing the king could do but turn his attention back to Westeros.

For Balon Greyjoy, a firm believer in the old way of the Ironborn had been quietly seething with anger and regret throughout the whole time his sister had been wed to King Aegyl and afterwards. Plotting revenge for some perceived insult to his people and his house, the Greyjoy had begun building more and more ships and did not answer to ravens asking what he was doing. Some doubt whether he himself knew what he was doing considering what happened next. After all only a mad man would cross King Aemon now.....


	50. The Lion Of The West

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

Lannisport thrummed with activity, women, children and their men folk were all walking around the streets stopping at the various stalls and shops to examine goods and jewellery from as far flung places as Asshai, and debate over prices, news and trade gossip. As Jaime walked through the streets with his wife and children, he could not help but feel happy, the peace had been going on for seven years now, seven years for the kingdoms to get fat on the riches of the land and trade. Jaime himself had spent those seven years learning all he needed to know about running the Rock and ruling the Westerlands, for as the first born son of Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, all of this would one day be his, and his father was a great believer in learning by example.

He felt his wife gasp in excitement beside him and looked at her and then to what she was looking at, a witch was performing magic tricks with fire and ice, and other such nonsense and his wife and it seemed his daughters were fascinated by it. “You can go and see what’s happening there if you want my love.” Jaime whispered to his wife Rhaena. “Just take some of the red cloaks with you.” She nodded and Jaime watched her and their two daughters walk towards the stall where the witch was accompanied by twelve red cloaks who walked discreetly behind them. Jaime smiled slightly; his wife for all her fire and passion sometimes could be just like a child. He supposed that was what happened when it was just you and your brother living together, and fighting for survival as it had been for Rhaena during the struggles.

Both Jaime and his wife were fiercely protective of their children, never really wanting them to disappear from their line of vision but inadvertently knowing that they would ultimately leave for some form of mischief which would inevitably be instigated by Tygett their eldest son and child. Tygett was nine now, and would soon have to be sent somewhere to foster, Jaime’s father had insisted on it during his last letter, saying that the bonds between the Lannisters and the other houses in the realm could only help strengthen their position. Jaime himself had been fostered for a time, well not truly fostered he had spent the first eight years of his life in King’s Landing with his father, and then the next few years in Crakehall squiring for Summer Crakehall before being knighted at the age of fifteen on the field of battle by the king himself.

Jaime’s goodbrother was only a year older than him and yet the war and the responsibilities of being king had made him seem like an old man. Gone was the laughter and the fire in his belly, that had before been so prominent, when King Aemon had last visited the Rock with his wife and Jaime’s father, he had been much more reserved and quiet, though in the sparring yard the fire had still been there, as had the skill. Jaime had been sore afterwards for nearly two weeks. “Father, when will I be able to use live steel?” his son’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Jaime looked down and saw his firstborn Tygett standing close by a look of pure want on his face as he looked between Jaime and the steel swords that were on display in a shop window. Jaime chuckled and said. “When you are old enough and can fight without breaking every sword you use son.” His son had a habit of fighting with more strength than he knew what to do with and as a result often ended up breaking the sword he was using. Casterly Rock was becoming bereft of wooden practice swords as a result.

His son pouted. “But Prince Maekar told me he uses live steel and he’s only a few months older than me!”

Jaime laughed. “I’m sure he was only joking Tyg, the Prince is too young to use live steel as well, and besides pouting won’t get you anywhere with me, I am not your mother.”

His son turned round and walked into the shop, Jaime looked at Addam Marbrand one of his oldest friends and his friend nodded and walked in after Tyg, and Jaime looked behind him and saw his mother holding onto Lucion’s hand. He smiled at the sight, his mother had been very ill as of late and had rarely left her rooms, Jaime knew not what it was that was ailing her, but he deeply wished for her to get better, and if this was any sign of things to come then perhaps she would. Joanna Lannister senior looked up and saw him looking at her and smiled back, before nodding that everything was okay and that he should go on.

And so he did, he walked on through the streets, and took a left turning into a back alley where he knew the witch was said to live. The witch who had driven his sister to madness, it had been so long since he’d been in this part of Lannisport but he remembered it well, the spices, the stench of magic and evil. He continued walking on through the dirt tracks, the red cloaks tailing behind him silent as shadows, until he came to the little hut. It was just as it had been all those years ago, when he and Cersei had come here last, it must have been after the feast for the ending of that tourney his father had held, Cersei had shown him the place where the witch had made her go to madness, and then made him swear an oath that he would kill her. He had not spoken to his sister in seven years but there were bonds that were just to deep to go away like that, even if he no longer truly loved her.

He pushed open the door to the hut and it creaked loudly. A man was standing at the counter and looked up in surprise when he saw Jaime. “My Lord, it is an unexpected pleasure. What might I do for you?”

“Is your mother here?” Jaime asked.

“My m-m-other my lord? She is sleeping, I can go and get her if you wish.” The man said.

“Aye do that.” Jaime said. “And tell her, the brother is here.” He needed to get this done and quickly.

The man hurried away up the stairs and soon returned with a hunched and shrivelled old lady, a maegi from the east who had come with the father of the founder of House Spicer some years ago, when Tytos Lannister had ruled as lord of the rock. She had made the prediction for Cersei’s future, and though Cersei’s fate was safe now, Jaime still had one thing he wished to know. The maegi was blind now, but she sat down and bid her son leave. Her voice was hoarse from disuse when she spoke. “So you have come back Ser Lion. Have you come to do your sister’s bidding?”

Jaime snorted. “If I had come to do that, then you would be dead by now old woman.”

“Ah but I can sense hesitancy on you, young lion, you are not sure whether you should have come here or not. After all what my words did to your sister, drove a wedge between the two of you that has not healed in all the intervening years. Now tell me Ser Lion, what you would have of an old woman.” The maegi replied.

Jaime was silent for a moment and then he asked the question he had wanted to know the answer to for a long, long time. “Where did you come from? And why chose Lannisport?”

The maegi chuckled. “That is the not question you want the answer to is it Ser Lion? But you are too scared to ask it, never mind I shall answer your question. I come from the east, this you know but you would not know where my home is. As to why Lannisport, what better place to watch the fighting of dragons than in the city of lions.”

“What do you mean the fighting of dragons?  Aerys and Rhaegar are dead and rotting in the ground and Robert Baratheon was a stag not a dragon.” Jaime said.

“That is the problem with you Westerosi; you all think that there is just one dragon family in the world. Before the doom there were thousands of them, Qoherys and Towers were dragons as well. But no that is not who I mean, there are dragons in Essos, the descendants of the Brightflame, who will look west soon enough.” The maegi said.

“Pah, the Brightflames will not look west they have an empire in the east now. What could they want with Westeros that they do not already have? Besides none would be mad enough to challenge King Aemon now.” Jaime retorted.

The maegi smiled a toothless smile and said. “Oh you are very naive Ser Lion, for all that you are smarter than your sister and brother. So very naive. Be sure that does not bring your downfall when the kraken comes.”

Jaime was about to respond when the door to the hut slammed open, and Ser Boremund Crakehall of the red cloaks appeared breathless. “Ser Jaime, you must come immediately. Your wife is asking for you. It’s urgent.”

Jaime felt his heart begin to pound faster, he threw a few coins onto the table and left the hut, Crakehall on his heels. He found his wife sat in front of the statue of Lann the Clever, her eyes read and her hands bandaged. His mother and his children were around his wife, “What happened?” Jaime asked the minute he got to them.

“I, I couldn’t stop them Jaime, they took her, they took her.” Rhaena said sobbing.

“Rhaena, Joanna and Cerenna went for a walk near the peer to see the ships and speak with some of the men.” Jaime’s mother began calmly. “Rhaena was speaking with some of the sailors, and Joanna and Cerenna went off to play by the river’s edge with the red cloaks watching over them.”

“That’s when I heard the sound of drums and the sound of arrows. I asked the captain of one of the ships what was happening and he said he didn’t know.” Rhaena sobbed.

“What happened Rhaena?” Jaime asked doing a quick scan; Tygett, Lucion and Joanna were here. “Where’s Cerenna Rhaena?” he asked again feeling fear begin to rise inside of him.

“They came out of nowhere Jaime. They killed the captain, and then began burning the ships. Ser Lyonel urged me back behind him and Ser Guyard took Joanna to safety as well. Cerenna as well. But then they came onto the land from their ships and the red cloaks fought them and most were killed, but we had to flee. And then I got separated from the girls in the crowd fleeing from port. And then I was here and Joanna was here, but Cerenna was not. So I sent Ser Lyonel out to find her and he didn’t return. Oh Jaime.” Rhaena sobbed and then she threw herself into his arms and began crying.

Jaime looked at his mother then and asked. “What happened mother. Who were the fools who dared raid Lannisport and burn our ships?”

His mother was silent and then she said softly. “The Ironborn Jaime. Euron Crow’s Eye led the attack himself. Our ships are burnt and Cerenna has been taken.”

Jaime felt anger then, pure white hot anger. “Tygett, help your siblings and your mother and grandmother back to the castle. I must speak with Ser Addam.” Once some of the redlcoaks had helped his family walk back to the castle, he turned to Ser Addam and through gritted teeth he said. “I want a full search of the peer started, and I want Ser Lyonel found. I will also want letters sent to Pyke and to King’s Landing. The king must know.” Ser Addam nodded and then began roaring orders for the others to follow. Jaime looked at the statue of Lann the Clever, and swore to himself, _I will find you Cerenna whether I have to burn Pyke to the ground or not, I will find you._


	51. One Eye

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

Even in the throes of winter King’s Landing was damnably hot. It seemed as though the placement of the city next to the sea, and the numerous forges and other such buildings made the city constantly swelteringly hot. Aemon did not truly mind after all he was a dragon, and dragons did not burn. Six years since the war of the dragons had ended, the seven kingdoms were at peace, trade was booming and the people were becoming rich and fat off the land and the coin they made. Aemon himself was rather enjoying the security of knowing that he no longer had to worry about potentially being killed in the night, nor did he have to worry about his wife or children’s safety, for none would dare harm him or his now.

Relations with his mother had improved slightly, it helped he supposed that he was now a parent himself and could understand some of what had gone on in his mother’s mind when the struggles had been going on. That and the fact that Tywin and his mother had finally explained why he had been left behind, if he had fled to Dragonstone Aerys would have attempted his coup much earlier and things would have been a lot less easy for him to reclaim the throne. After all, the lords of Westeros he had learnt only cared about two things, their families and their power. Mace Tyrell had flirted with danger and power as his father had before him and so had ridden the snake that was Aerys Targaryen and paid for it with his life, as had Redwyne. Lords would not fight for a child if they thought the child to be weak and without potential, Aemon knew now that none of his lords would betray him, not if they wanted to keep their heads on their shoulders.

There had been those who had called for Elia and her children to be imprisoned or exiled, and whilst he knew that Prince Doran would have welcomed his sister and niece and nephew back to Dorne, Aemon was not in a position to let them go back. It was not that he feared what would happen to them if they were in Dorne or that he feared that they would try to rise up in rebellion, for Doran was not as foolish as that, it was the fact that Ashara didn’t want Elia to go, and their children had become attached to Aegon and Rhaenys. Aemon could let that slide, for nothing was as important to him as the happiness of his wife and children. He found that he loved Ashara more day by day, and their children just as much. It helped he supposed, that Elia had become a companion of his and Ashara’s in bed quite recently. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how Rhaegar could have been such a fool as to run off with Lyanna Stark, a mere child when he had a beautiful and sophisticated woman for a wife. Then again, his cousin had never truly thought with his brain before doing any serious action.

He had spoken with Elia and his aunt Rhaella to try and figure out why Rhaegar had absconded with Lyanna Stark, an action that had ultimately led to the girl’s death in childbed, and had found that his fool of a cousin had done it because of some prophecy he had read in a book somewhere in Summerhall. Some prophecy to do with three headed dragons and a song of ice and fire, it made no sense to Aemon, at least it hadn’t until he had found the journal that his great grandfather King Brynden had written of dreams and visions and discussions he had had with Edwyle Stark, then he had sort of understood perhaps why Rhaegar had made the decisions he had made. He only wished his cousin had been more sensible about whom he had chosen, and not left Aerys in charge. Rhaegar always had been a bit of a dreamer, and it seemed his dreaming had been what got him killed in the end.

It seemed though as if what Aemon’s great grandfather had thought to be true in the future might be coming to pass. Lord Rickard had written some days ago that Lord Commander Mormont of the Night’s Watch was seeing increasing movement of wildlings towards the south of the wall, and that there were increasing numbers of raids happening. It might come to a point where the north would have to rally in full force and deal with the wildlings. Lord Commander Mormont had written of the pitiful state of the watch and the need for more men of suitable strength and skill, and Aemon had been happy to oblige. Second and third sons of those lords who had fought for the wrong side during the war had been sent north to man the wall alongside the usual filth from the dungeons, though the filth was lessening, for the Watch would need to be in full strength if it were to stand a chance against a proper wildling invasion.

Aemon quickly scanned the letters that were on the table in front of him, information about Varys that Pycelle had been kind enough to provide him with. The eunuch had become master of whispers during the regency of Aerys, and had provided some information for his uncle during the struggles and during the years that followed. The man was a useful tool to have his skills at finding information almost unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms, still there was something about him that was nagging away at Aemon, what it was he could not quite put a finger on, but there was something there. Varys had worked for a mummer’s show in Lys or Tyrosh before trading in secrets in Pentos and other Essosi cities, with his friend and the sellsword Illyrio Mopatis. Mopatis was now a wealthy merchant in Pentos selling cheese and such, but had married a woman who some of these reports claimed was Varys’ sister Serra. Whether this was true or not Aemon knew not, all he knew was that he could continue to keep an eye on Varys and if the man ever stopped being useful, he would die a painful death. Aemon had no use for blunt tools.

The doors to the small council chamber opened and in walked Lord Tywin Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower, the Hand of the King and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard respectively. They were closely followed by Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Garth Hightower and then finally, Victarion Greyjoy, Lord Damon Celtigar and then Varys. At seeing the eunuch Aemon slid the pieces of parchment that he had been reading into his sleeve, and then bid the members of the council to sit. Once they were all seated, he spoke. “My lords I thank you for coming, I know that the hour is late but there are issues that need to be discussed that were not conclusively discussed at the last meeting. One of these issues is the Arbor. Now Lord Tywin what news has come from there?”

Tywin Lannister was a serious man who rarely smiled, though Aemon had seen him smile often when his grandchildren were present. His voice was serious when he replied. “Lord Cuy has written once more saying that Mina Tyrell continues to cause problems for him and his and that she is trying to get her sister and mother to rally some of the reacherlords to seat her son Horas in the Arbor.”

“Well she won’t have much luck. Janna knows where I stand on this matter, and her mother might be a harridan but she is not a fool. Mina Tyrell will get nowhere Your Grace.” Garth said.

“Who else does Cuy say Mina Tyrell has written to Tywin?” Aemon asked.

“The High Septon Your Grace. She begs his holy favour in this matter.” Tywin replied.

“Well it is a good thing then that the High Septon knows where his bread is buttered.” Varys tittered.

Aemon ignored the eunuch and then said. “Pycelle, write to Lady Mina and remind her that because of her husband’s treason House Redwyne were attainted and stripped of their rights to the Arbor and its incomes. Her son will never inherit the Arbor. Has the woman married since her husband’s death?”

Varys spoke then his voice flowery as it usually was. “She has not Your Grace. She claims she will not wed, not until her son is given his rightful inheritance.”

“Or until her mother can find her someone who will take up a washed up woman who was wed to a traitor.”Tywin replied coldly.

“Pycelle include in that letter, that unless she weds within two moons her son will be joining her nephews in King’s Landing. And when he reaches maturity will join the Night’s Watch. That should get her off and out.” Aemon said. Once Pycelle had written that down, he turned his attention to the next pressing matter. “Now, when last we met I was informed of my uncle Balon Greyjoy building war fleets. Has the man responded as to why he was doing this?”

Aemon looked at Varys expectantly but before the eunuch could respond Tywin spoke his voice betraying the anger that he felt. “He has Your Grace. But with action not words. My son Jaime wrote to say that the Iron Fleet raided Lannisport and burnt our fleet. They also took my granddaughter Cerenna a hostage.”

Aemon felt the rage and anger begin to build up inside of him then. “When did this happen Tywin?”

His friend and hand was silent for a long time before he replied. “Two weeks ago. Jaime has not been able to find any trace of where they might have taken Cerenna or why they might have done what they have.”

It was his uncle Victarion who gave them the answer. “Because Balon must have declared himself King of the Iron Islands. When we were children growing up, Balon often spoke of his desire to return the Ironborn to the old way when he came into his lordship. And now he has finally acted on this desire.”

Aemon’s anger was truly at its peak now, his left eye was beginning to pain. “Well he has crossed the line. He did not help during the war, and he got away lightly. Now he has dared to break the peace. Varys please tell me your birds know what he plans to do next.”

“They do Your Grace. In fact one of the birds who whispers in the man’s ear, reports that Greyjoy plans on sending his son Rodrik to invade Seagard and settle an old rivalry the Ironborn have with the Mallisters from the Age of Heroes. He is sending his brother Euron to try and go raiding along the Westerlands as well; in fact the Iron Fleet might have already begun this mission.” Varys replied.

Aemon was beginning to feel the pain in his eye all the more clearly now. It was through gritted teeth that he gave his response. “Pycelle, write to Lords Stark and Tully. Tell them that their banners are needed, Stark will take ships from Sea Dragon Point I presume, and Tully needs send men to Seagard. Victarion you shall lead the Royal Fleet down the straits and through to the Sunset Sea, and along with Lord Cuy and his war galleys do battle to the Iron Fleet. Burn the ships and kill those you fight. I want a way onto Pyke. Tywin return home and call your banners. We shall give my uncle the war he wants, and he will die.”

“What will you do Your Grace?” Varys asked.

Aemon turned to look at him then and said in a voice laced with anger. “I will lead the assault on Pyke, and I will slice my uncle’s traitorous head off and mount it on a spike outside King’s Landing. Pyke will fall and with it my uncle and his family.”

 

 


	52. The Sounding Of The Horn

**Lord Rickard Stark**

Winter was a strange mistress, especially in the north. Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North had seen his fair share of winters, though there had been none as confusing and as turbulent as this one. This winter had set in almost a year to the day that the war of the Dragons in the south had ended six moons to the day that Lyanna and her daughter had died. It had not gone since, six years it had been and still winter reigned supreme over all. There was snow on the ground, and snow on the trees, Winterfell, the north hells the whole kingdom was just one big mass of white.

There was the cold as well, it was not the bone chilling cold that would hearld the long winter, nor was the bone chilling cold that his father had written of so many years ago that could claim the lives of thousands and wakes the dead. No this cold was simply the cold of a winter that had lasted longer than previous ones, still Rickard Stark was not a young man anymore and he felt the cold more so now than he had done some years ago. He knew his time on this planet was coming to a close, his wife sweet beautiful Arya had departed some two years ago, and since then he had felt as if he was simply drifting by.

The north had been relatively peaceful in the past seven years since Aerys and Rhaegar Targaryen had been slain. There had been very few disputes over land or shelter, and no conflicts so to speak of. Rickard’s old friend Jeor Mormont had joined the Night’s Watch shortly after the northerners had returned home, telling Rickard that he no longer wished to stand in the way of his son and Bear Island. Jorah Mormont was a good lad, someone who was skilful in the battlefield and with his mind, and so far had given Rickard no cause for complaint. Though Jeor had written about four times since becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch asking for more men to be sent to the wall, and he wrote more often of the wildling raiders who were growing in number and presence.

Wildlings had once tried to cross the wall in force when Edwyle Stark still lived, but Rickard had summoned the banners of Winterfell, Cerwyn and Torrhen’s Square and along with Lord Umber had thrown the wildlings over and back to beyond the wall. Still these increasing reports had Rickard slightly on edge, for the words he had read in his father’s journal all those years ago continued playing in his mind. This increasing wildling presence was a mere feint before the true invasion came, and when it did Rickard wondered whether or not the north would be ready for it.

Rickard’s eldest son Brandon had wed Catelyn Tully on the eve of battle in the sept at Riverrun, and had so far been blessed with three children, a boy they had named Robb and two girls named Sansa and Arya. Robb reminded Rickard of Brandon at that age, full of bountiful energy and a never ending barrage of questions. Sansa, was the spitting image of her mother and was already showing signs of being the perfect lady, whilst Arya, at only one year old was a spitfire reminding Rickard so much of the daughter he had lost to a madman’s prophecy that sometimes it ached to look at her.

Brandon had himself matured somewhat from the hot headed youth who had demanded they ride for King’s Landing at once. Though there were times when the wolf’s blood still showed itself most predominantly in his eldest, Brandon had with age become much more calm and cautious, less willing to take fatal risks though his anger when roused was a sight to behold. Catelyn Tully had done wonders for his son, making him more mature, and even if there was no love between the two, there was at least a fondness and respect.

Rickard’s second son, Eddard had wed Barbrey Ryswell, a move done by Rickard to appease his own guilty conscience and to ensure that his bannermen were kept happy, Ryswell in particular. Eddard and Barbrey had just the one child, named Jon after Eddard’s foster father Rickard supposed. His second son had always been quiet and withdrawn, something Rickard could understand considering he himself had been like that as well as a youth. It also seemed as if Barbrey Ryswell was trying to eye up Brandon and Catelyn’s spot as Lady of Winterfell as well, for though she had borne Eddard only one son, there were rumours Rickard knew that the girl was hungry for what was not hers.

Benjen had joined the Night’s Watch last year, stating that he needed to repent for sins committed, what sins these were Rickard did not specifically know though he suspected they had something to do with Lyanna. He had not pried though, the Night’s Watch was an honourable profession despite what the southerners in their flowery courts thought. He knew that his youngest son had been named to the rangers and was quickly rising through the ranks, that were Benjen alright whatever he set his mind to he would accomplish.

Of Lyanna Rickard tried to think as little as possible for the thought of his daughter still brought grief all these years later. It had been his insistence that the betrothal to Robert Baratheon go ahead that had driven Lyanna to run away with Rhaegar Targaryen. His little wolf girl had always been very strong minded and as such it had led to her death, Rickard could still see her lifeless body sucked dry of all it had, as she lay in that bed of blood a crown of roses on her hair.

He shook his head and looked down at the raven that had arrived a few days ago. The Ironborn were invading, a force had burnt the Lannister fleet at anchor and another had attacked Seagard some days ago only to be destroyed by Jason Mallister and his men. Rickard had called his banners and so far Lords Umber, Karstark, Bolton, Hornwood, Dustin, Tallhart, Cerwyn and the mountain clans had responded. Rickard looked at the lords gathered before him and he knew then what arguments would crop up.

“We should sail from Sea Dragon Point my lord. There are ships there from what the King gave us following the war. Surely if we take those ships we can sail and attack Pyke ourselves.” The Greatjon said.

“We have too many men for those ships my lord of Umber. If we try crossing there the Ironborn will know and we will face more difficulties than advantages.” Rickard’s eldest son Brandon replied.

“We know that the Ironborn were beaten back at Seagard, and that The King is sailing from King’s Landing to deal with the Iron Fleet, why not march south and aid the Lannisters in dealing with whatever Ironmen are in the Westerlands?” Lord Willam Dustin asked.

“Aye, what Dustin says is a good plan my lords. March south through the Neck and the Twins and then assail the Ironborn when they drop off at the Sunset Sea. We can drive them back just as Beron Stark did in the days of old.” Mark Ryswell said.

Before Rickard could respond, Maester Walys entered the room; the old maester was not as fit as he used to be and was now huffing and puffing, close to death. “My lords, I apologise for the interruption, but a raven came just now and I believe you will wish to all hear its contents.” Walys looked at Rickard who nodded and then the maester unrolled the letter and read aloud. “To my lord father, I am sure you are wondering why I have writ this letter so suddenly when all are gearing for war. But it is for this exact reason that I write. My scouts have had reports of Ironborn ships docked to the west of Moat Cailin along the swamps of the Fever River heading towards the Moat. I am not sure how many men they have, but I would be deeply grateful for any help you could send. Your Son Eddard.” Walys stopped reading.

Rickard looked at his bannermen then and said. “Well my lords there is your answer we march south.”

The march south took hardly anytime at all, 12,000 men marched from Winterfell’s gates Rickard his son Brandon and their bannermen. Rickard spent the march south speaking with his eldest son and discussing tactics with him, seeing what sort of military mind his heir had, and found that Brandon had a similar mind set to his own brother Brandon, a thrust here, a parry there draw the enemy out and then attack. Rickard was more conservative then again he was but an old man now, he wanted to wait an enemy out, bore them into action. Still other lords such as Karstark and Dustin favoured Brandon’s option whilst Lord Bolton wished for Rickard’s option to be the most prevalent.

When they arrived at the northern gate of the Moat they found a battle already heavily into action. Arrows flying from the walls, men fighting on the ground and death, the stench of death was quite prevalent. Rickard Stark drew Ice from its sheath and roared a battle cry and lead the charge. The men crashed into the Ironborn like a thunder clap, hacking and slashing soon enough steel on steel and the sound of dying were the only things Rickard heard. The men in front of him the only things he saw. He hacked and slashed his way through the Ironborn, Ice drinking in their blood greedily.

The Ironborn are skilled fighters Rickard will give them that much, what they lack in discipline they make up for in skill. Making hacks and slashes that are borne from a hundred battles, and yet their lack of discipline is what eventually leads to their deaths, drowning under the weight of their armour in the bogs and swamps of the neck and the Moat.The arrows continue flying from the walls striking the Ironborn and bringing them down. On the battle went, hacking and slashing Rickard could feel the armour beginning to stifle him, the weight of his wounds beginning to grow.

Still he pushed on hacking through a man wielding an axe, before he came face to face with a gnarled man with a black eye and a crooked grin. Dagmar Cleftjaw this man would be, the man was a fierce warrior who had an even fiercer reputation, still he was attacking Rickard’s home and so they engaged in battle. Cleftjaw swung, Rickard blocked, Rickard swung, Cleftjaw blocked. On it went this dance, swinging and blocking until one of them broke through and struck the other, that was when the fighting really got interesting. Swinging and parrying, and swinging and parrying until they were both bone tired, Rickard’s hands and arms hurt from the blows and from carrying Ice. Still he fought on.  The wounds on his body made him feel like lead on and on he fought, each new blow sending him to his knees though he forced himself to get back up and give as good as he got.

Cleftjaw’s arm fell off with a rattle and a groan, Rickard blinked and then felt his arms begin to slide from the handle, his own strength was fast leaving him though battle continued. The roar of it all was pounding inside of his head, he could see his father, strapped to a tree somewhere far to the north or was his father the tree itself? Edwyle Stark’s eyes were closed when Rickard saw them but then he knew what needed to be done had been done, and with one last final heave he cleaved through Dagmar Cleftjaw before allowing his grip on Ice to slacken and for the sword to clatter into the marsh.

Rickard Stark died at the age of sixty on the fifth day of the fifth month of the 289th year after Aegon’s Landing. With him he took Dagmar Cleftjaw and won the battle of the Marshes.


	53. Kraken

**Victarion Greyjoy**

They had set out from King’s Landing three moons ago, a great parade had come to see the King and the royal fleet off. 15,000 men from the Crownlands had boarded onto 250 war galleys and 50 cogs and other sailing ships meant for the Fair Isle to batter down the Iron Fleet and end the rebellion that Balon had foolishly started. The king had looked grim and determined on that day, saying little openly but giving clues as to what he thought and felt with his eye. Victarion himself was beginning to feel the nervous sense of anticipation he always felt before a battle, his bloodlust was up and soon enough he would have a chance to fight and kill Euron, the bastard.

Euron had always been the cunt of Quellon Greyjoy’s brood, sharp and cunning and with a willingness to fuck with people’s minds that often made Victarion and his brothers wonder whether Euron truly was a man or if he was something else. Then there had been the day of Victarion’s twelfth nameday where Euron had crossed a line and done something that had so damaged Aeron their little brother that Aeron had forever become a drunk and a lecher. Victarion would relish slicing Euron Crow’s Eye, other eye out to add to the collection. He had carved the bastard’s eye out a long time ago before he had left for King’s Landing over something he no longer thought about, or didn’t wish to think about.

He took a swig of wine and stared out into the open water before him. News had come from the mainland, whilst they had moored in at Tarth to add the Stormlords fleet to their own, Balon’s oldest son the fool Rodrik had led the attack on Seagard and been brutally killed his men slaughtered. Victarion’s own youngest brother Robin a lack wit fool who japed and did more whoring than fighting led the invasion of the north, killed by Brandon Stark alongside the Cleftjaw. Balon’s rebellion was going badly only the raiding of the Iron Fleet had proven successful and even in that they were losing men to Lannister vengeance.

“I want the fleet broken. No strength left at sea for good now. Balon has had his chance and he blew it. Now he shall learn the lesson Aerys and Rhaegar learnt.” The king had said before they had departed. Victarion knew that his nephew would not balk at killing Balon for the man had committed treason when he had had no reason to do so other than pure pride. Even Alyssa had not begged for clemency for their older brother merely nodding and saying nothing.

Victarion had laid the plan out before his nephew the king the day they had set sail. “Euron is many things but stupid is not one of them. He will know that the Royal Fleet outmatches the Iron Fleet and as such he will aim for the ships that have the least number of men and aim to sink them. If we are to win, we must have ships stationed in a pincer and crush the fleet.”

The king had nodded and had merely said. “Once this war is done, you shall hold Pyke and become the Lord of the Isles.” Victarion had nodded and so here they were sailing closer and closer to where their scouts had said the Iron Fleet was docked off the coast of Fair Isle, with plunder and women. Victarion could almost see The Crow’s Eye’s smirk the thought had him clenching onto his axe so hard his hands were turning white.

“My lord?” a voice brought him back from the edge of darkness. He turned and saw Ser Morris Montague standing close by, the man was a good sailor and an even better fighter. “There has been word from the Golden Crab, Cuy has begun his attack.”

“Good,” Victarion replied. “Send the signal out I will want our ships stationed close by so as to make good use of the trap Cuy sets my brother.”

Montague nodded and the commands were given. Victarion stood on the deck and watched as the pincer formation came into being, over in the distance he saw the banners of House Cuy being raised alongside the king’s own sigil. The sounding of horns signalled the beginning of the attack. And soon enough the first ships of the Iron Fleet, a probe if you will came out of the horizon and were crushed between the massive galleys Cuy had built. The wood splintered and groaned and soon enough men were falling into the sea.

“A probe nothing more.” Greyjoy grunted when his squire came bounding up for news. “Sound the horns.” And the horns were sounded. He watched as the rest of the ships began to crush in onto the fleet, the wound and the sound of men dying grated on Greyjoy’s ears. “Loose Arrows.” He shouted and arrows were loosed from all around.  There was no sign of the Silence, his brother’s flagship and yet Victarion cared not. “Light the torches and fire.” He commanded and so the torches were lit and fire unleashed. Men were jumping into the water screaming from the fire; it was like the end of the war all over again, except this time the men who jumped drowned and did not rise.

As planned Cuy’s ships began departing once the fire began to spread, and still there was no sign of the silence. “My lord,” Montague began. “Over there. The horn is sounding over there.”

“Fire the arrows and torches. I want that ship torched for all its worth.” Greyjoy shouted. Arrows and torches were unleashed on the ship and the water, burning, searing hot fire, orange then green then blue, the fire that consumed. It spread and spread and spread, until there was a big bang and then the smoke and plumes were all that was left of the ship. “News from the front?” Greyjoy asked.

“Fleet destroyed. One ship remaining my lord. The Silence has not been spotted.” Montague replied.

“Find the Silence and burn it.” Victarion barked.

“There will be no need my lord.” A voice, Nute the Barber said behind him. Victarion turned round and looked at him questioningly. “It is come.” And there it was the profane ship his brother had chosen for his own.

“Fire at will.” Victarion barked. And so the men did, arrows, torches whatever they go their hands on was fired, Victarion would not become a kinslayer. As it turned out he need not have worried, for soon enough the body of his brother and the body of his nephew Theon were soon washed up and presented to him. Fair Isle defended, Iron Fleet Destroyed. Pyke was free for the taking.


	54. End the Kraken

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

Pyke loomed large before them, King Aemon Targaryen and the army he had assembled made up of men from the Crownlands, Westerlands, Riverlands and the North were all camped on the banks of the Ironman’s Beach looking up at the walls and planning their next move. Balon Greyjoy, the king’s own uncle had rebelled and crowned himself king of salt and rock, but his rebellion had failed just as Aerys war had failed. Balon’s son, Aemon’s own cousin Rodrik had died beneath the walls of Seagard slain by Lord Jason Mallister, his brother Robin and his strong right hand Dagmar Cleftjaw both killed during the battle of the Fever, his son Theon and his brother Euron both slain during the fire of Fair Isle. His uncle had rebelled and paid for it with the lives of his family.

The loyalists had experienced their own casualties as well, Rickard Stark the former Lord of Winterfell had died from his wounds taken during the battle of the fever, Aemon’s oldest friend Brandon was now Lord of Winterfell. Lord Brandston Cuy had died during the fire of Fair Isle, countless others had died as well, and yet there was one person that Aemon continued to think about. His niece Cerenna was somewhere within those walls held hostage by Balon Greyjoy and he intended to have her back, no matter the cost. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the command tent opening and Lords Tywin, Brandon, Garth, Hoster and Stannis entered the tent. “What news do our scouts have for us?” Aemon asked immediately.

Tywin Lannister ever the faithful hand replied. “Lord Sawane Botley is mustering men to meet us beneath the walls of Lordsport. His host is some 2,000 strong. These are not old men or green boys Your Grace, but men who retreated following the failed attack on Seagard.”

Aemon nodded. “The siege towers and battering rams are ready I trust?”

“Yes Your Grace,” Lord Stannis Baratheon the new Lord of Storm’s End replied. “They are waiting your command.”

“Very well, Lord Stannis I want you to wait for three horn blasts before you begin bringing down the walls of Botley Castle. Brandon you shall lead the charge that deals with Lord Botley’s host, leave none alive. Kill Botley and his sons if you have to.” Aemon said.

“What of the rest of us Your Grace? What would you have us do?” Lord Hoster asked.

“We use the remaining siege towers to bring down the watchtowers and the other walls of Pyke. I want Pyke to be in ruins by the time we are done with it.” Aemon replied. There was some murmuring at that and then Aemon asked. “Has Balon Greyjoy replied to the offer yet?” Ser Gerold Hightower Lord Commander of Aemon’s Kingsguard had been sent to offer terms for Balon’s surrender, but to also sneak Cerenna Lannister out of the castle should Balon refuse the terms.

“No Your Grace. But word came from Old Wyk, Ser Barristan has gotten them to bend the knee once more.” Tywin replied. If he was worried about his granddaughter he did not show it.

Aemon sighed. “Very well then. Then there is no more to discuss. Leave all of you and get ready for the fighting. Remember to leave none of those scoundrels alive.”

The lords bowed and left, all except Lord Tywin, who was silent for a moment before he spoke. “Your Grace, far be it from me to question you. But I must ask, what do you plan on doing with Asha Greyjoy should she be thrown in front of you?” Aemon was silent and then Tywin spoke once more. “I only ask because she could be of great use to you to bring Balon to heal.”

Aemon is silent for a long moment before he finally says. “She will not be used to bring Balon to heal; Balon Greyjoy will be dead before his daughter is ever used against him. Besides she shall be marrying my cousin Harlon. I see no need to make the girl suffer anymore than she has to for her father’s crime.”

Tywin bows then and leaves, shortly afterwards Aemon’s squire Garlan Tyrell enters the tent and begins helping Aemon don his armour. As the armour gets put on, Aemon hears the sounds of the camp stirring and the whole scene that will soon unfold plays before his mind’s eye. It is this that makes him stop Garlan’s movements and speak. “A word of advice before the battle begins Garlan. What is about to happen will be bloody and chaotic. We might get separated in the throes of battle but make sure you keep an eye out for myself or for the Kingsguard. And make sure you remember what I taught you.”

“Yes Your Grace. Strong and true Your Grace.” Garlan replies.

Aemon smiles then and says. “Perhaps there might even be a knighthood for you at the end of this battle.” A horn sounds then and Aemon’s armour is securely fastened on, black and red plate and mail, he takes his dragon’s helm from his squire and then marches out to where his horse is ready and saddled. He mounts the horse and waits, and waits and waits. Eventually the sound of another horn being blow, followed by the sound of drums indicates that Brandon has begun his march. “And so it begins,” Aemon whispers to himself.

As he moves his horse towards where Lord Tywin mans the remaining catapults, he hears a horn being blown twice, and then sees the catapults launching their bulk through towards the walls of Pyke from the west, Stannis Baratheon true to his word as ever. He hears the impact and then hears the walls shake with it all before rock comes tumbling down and the wall opens. At that there is a roar and he sees men streaming down from the open wall and into the throng of the northern host. “Fire,” he hears lord Tywin shout and catapults unleash rocks and flaming torches onto the southern wall of Pyke. The fire lights up the sky and the walls and the foundation of their defences comes tumbling down.

This process continues for what seems an age, the sounds of fighting near the eastern wall continue for an age, until they eventually stop and by then the eastern wall is gone crumbled to dust, Botley Hall a smoking ruin. Next the southern wall falls, crashing like thunder, or a kraken’s mournful wail. With it goes the last chance Balon Greyjoy had for a peaceful settlement, now he will get the blood and iron he so desperately wanted. Aemon draws his sword from its sheath and bellows for the charge.

They meet the Ironborn in the shadow of the Grey Cliff, and there they find the kraken of Greyjoy flapping proudly and defiantly but not for long. Hacking and slashing the Kingsguard by his side, Aemon fights his way through the Ironborn noting their lack of discipline and their great strength and how it all will ultimately be for nought for them. He hacks his way through seven men or boys all of whom fall like sacks of meat to the floor, the ground drinking up their blood greedily.

The push continues through the southern wall, and through and through. Hacking and slashing, the armies fight and break apart and fight again. The waves are a distant memory, there is only the foe in front of them, and on it goes, hacking and slashing and cutting and ducking and hacking and hacking and hacking, hacking until his arms hurt with the strain of it all. Still he goes on, pushing and pushing.  On and on, hacking and slashing, he cuts through a man with a twin blade axe, cutting through him like he’s nothing more than mince meat, and he kills a man wielding a mace, kills and kills, Blackfyre singing with the blood on its blade.

The push continues, the throng of bodies is lessening now as men break away either from wounds or from death. Still the throng continues the push the urgency. He can hear the roar of battle from close by, still though his arms ache and his mind tires, he pushes on and on and on and on. The death toll rises and on he goes, his white shadows following close by. Ser Gerold Hightower falls fighting five men bringing three of them with him, the other two are finished by Ser Arthur Dayne.

They find guards at the foot of the bridge that will lead them to the Great Keep of Pyke, they fall easily enough, Ser Brandon and Aemon cutting them down like the flies they are. There are more guards on the bridge itself and yet they fall as well, hacking and slashing cutting and crawling they make their way through. The bodies fall from the swinging bridges and fall plunging into the ocean below, ominous for the Greyjoys and so on it goes.

There are more guards at the doorway to the great keep all of whom fall easily enough though Aemon is injured taking blows to the chest and shoulders that cut into his armour and open up fresh wounds. Grimacing through the pain he pushes into the great hall where Balon Greyjoy is sat, his crown on his head and a sneer on his face. “So mine nephew has come to end my reign as he?” his uncle snorts, spitting on the floor.

Aemon walks towards his uncle on his throne, and walks up the steps before hitting his uncle square in the face. Through gritted teeth he says. “I have come to kill you uncle. Your sons are dead; your brothers are near but all dead. Your daughter will wed my cousin and this war is over. Bend or die uncle, which will it be?”

His uncle ever the proud and stupid man spits again and says. “I would rather die than bend my knees to you.”

Aemon sighs. “Very well, Ser Brandon, Ser Arthur take this fool to a cell and leave him there for now.” Once they have hastened to obey, Aemon sits himself in his uncle’s chair and waits, eventually Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster arrive, bending the knee before him they report on what has occurred.

“Pyke is yours Your Grace. Lord Brandon has brought Botley Castle down to the ground with Lord Stannis’ help. Lord Botley and five of his sons were slain.” Lord Tywin says.

Aemon nods and then says. “We shall wait for news from the other islands before Balon’s death happens.”

And so they wait, for a week they wait on Pyke taking the supplies and the food and the plunder, and reuniting Cerenna Lannister with her father and grandfather. The girl was well looked after it seems, though she was scared by Balon and Euron Greyjoy as any sane man would be. Eventually news filters in, along with Old Wyk being subdued, Wyk itself is subdued by Ser Oswell Whent whilst Harlaw and the other islands bend their knees once more through official letters. Aemon knights Jorah Mormont the lord of Bear Island for being the first through the breach at Botley, and he also knights some twenty other men for their bravery during the fighting.

Eventually the lords of the islands and those men Aemon had sent elsewhere arrive at Pyke, and with them comes Balon Greyjoy’s final day of life. On the steps of Pyke Castle in front of half the Iron Islands, and the lords who came with him from Westeros, Aemon proclaims loudly for all to hear. “Balon Greyjoy, you stand accused of treason. You refused my offer of peaceful surrender and as such have paid the price. How do you plead?”

His uncle stood ramrod straight. “Guilty, though I do not bend to a greenlander and never will.”

His uncle is forced to his knees then his head mounted on a chopping block. Aemon unsheathes Blackfyre and in a loud voice says. “Then I do sentence you to die.” And with that he brings his sword down and cleaves his uncle’s head right off. Balon Greyjoy is beheaded on the fifth day of the eighth month of the 289th year after Aegon’s Landing and with him the rebellion dies and peace returns.

 


	55. Countdown

**Maester’s Interlude**

Balon Greyjoy’s head rolling across the steps of Pyke sealed the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, a spark, a dying ember of a man hell-bent on bringing the old way of the Ironborn back to life. Greyjoy and his three sons Rodrik, Maron and Theon had died because of his madness as had Euron Crow’s Eye and Robin the lack witted. King Aemon’s hold on the Iron Throne was now completely secure with the eradication of the Ironborn threat, to further ensure that the Ironborn did not rally around another rebellion; the king had his cousin Harlon Greyjoy eldest born son of Victarion Greyjoy wed to Asha Greyjoy the only surviving child of Balon and Alannys Greyjoy. The king also went on to name Victarion Greyjoy Lord of Pyke and Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands, giving him two months in which to solidify his hold on the isles before he would be required back in the capital

Victarion Greyjoy did just that, within the two moons he was given to sort out the affairs of Pyke he brought some troublesome bannermen such as the Orkmonts and the Drumms to heel and won the rest over by ensuring that their lands and castles were not too harshly hit by the fines that King Aemon imposed on them. It helped that Greyjoy was already a warrior of considerable prowess and a noted battle commander, with his new bannermen living in awe of how he had crushed the Iron Fleet on the coast of Fair Isle. Victarion’ s son Harlon was equally adored, a handsome lad, he was strong and martially minded and soon enough had put three sons into his wife’s belly, naming them Aemon, Aeron and Horen.

As with the Arbor following the ending of the War of the Dragons, the Iron Fleet was significantly reduced in power with the King not wanting another naval power that could challenge the royal fleet. The Iron Islands were allowed to build a new war fleet of some 50 ships whilst the rest of their ships had to be trading vessels that could be subject to inspection by the crown at any time, or place. Though the Ironborn would grumble about this and raise many a new protest, they eventually came to accept the terms for fear of what would happen should they refuse King Aemon one eye’s demands.

On the mainland, the king threw a great tourney this time at Lannisport to celebrate his victory over the Ironborn. Those who had fought in the war came to watch and participate and so the people of Lannisport found themselves treated to the sight of many a war hero competing the jousting or the melee. The melee was won by Ser Lyle Crakehall swinging a fiery mace for all to see, the boar of a man brought foe after foe down, including the veritable Ser Brandon Stark the white wolf. The jousting was won by Ser Jaime Lannister who crowned his wife Lady Rhaena Queen of Love and Beauty, it was also at the tourney that Hoster Tully finally announced whom his son and heir Edmure Tully was to marry, the youngest sister of Lord Garth Hightower, Lynesse Hightower. Their wedding which took place a moon after the tourney in Riverrun was a grand occasion with the king and the royal family in attendance.

Lord Hoster soon had two grandchildren in the short space of time following the wedding, a boy named Edmyn with fiery red hair and a girl named Minisa with pale blond hair and green eyes. The delight of the Riverlands and the delight of House Tully the two children would grow up to cause all kinds of havoc in the years that would follow and would often play with their cousins from Winterfell, for Lord Brandon and Lady Catelyn had two more children following the Greyjoy rebellion, two boys named Bran and Rickon. Both of whom had countless amounts of energy and stamina and often gave their parents a run around especially when paired with their sister Arya.

Tidings from north of the wall continued to grow stranger during this period, as ranging after ranging returned back reporting vast swathes of wildling villages either abandoned or torched not a single body in sight. Lord Commander Mormont led two great rangings out during the nine year period following the Greyjoy Rebellion, on the first ranging they discovered the tomb of the horned lord a mystical figure who was said to have fought against the kingdoms of the north. In his tomb they found many an object that Maester Aemon the maester of the watch would later confirm as being from the time of the children of the forest and the age of heroes. On the second ranging that Mormont led in 297 A.L., the Night’s Watch did battle with a horde of wildlings and giants on that ancient pillar the fist of the first men, winning the battle but having to beat a hasty retreat when the cold winds came and Mormont himself faced a mutiny through the snows and the cold when his men hungry and tired grew fed up with Craster the wildling’s snide comments and killed the man and raped his wives and daughters.

Benjen Stark one of the few to survive the second ranging fled to Castle Black and then onto Winterfell where he warned his brother Lord Brandon of the oncoming wildling invasion and the cold and all that they had found on their rangings. His brother, who had always been sceptical of the true threat the wildlings could actually pose after reading the journal of his grandfather and seeing his own father’s words and notes took more serious heed of what his youngest brother told him and called his banners and began the long march north to the wall to deal with whatever enemy came through the wall.

South of the neck, in the Twins the Freys of the Crossing mourned and celebrated the passing of one Lord Walder Frey whose rule of tyranny finally came to an end on the eve of the New Year, death by choking on a chicken bone during dinner. Stevron Frey became the new lord of the crossing and as such had the unenviable task of trying to repair his house’s reputation that had been so damaged by his father. Stevron Frey died though of a fever, though some whispered he was poisoned by his own son. Ryman Frey the drunkard became Lord of the Crossing for only a brief two week period before he died in a hunting accident leaving his son Edwyn Frey as Lord of the Crossing though rumours abounded that Black Walder was massing men to take the Twins by force. Such rumours reached King’s Landing and were discussed before being dismissed.

In King’s Landing there were many celebrations to be had, Tygett Lannister grandson of the mighty lion Tywin Lannister was wed to Princess Rhaenys of Summerhall, and his own sister Joanna was wed to Prince Aegon of Summerhall. The Lannisters were for a change experiencing unprecedented levels of popularity throughout the kingdoms, it seemed that those who had lived in fear of Tywin Lannister looked forward to the day his son and grandson would rule the Westerlands though they did acknowledge the good work that Tywin Lannister had done as Lord of the Rock and as Hand of the King, helping to raise a good and kind king who put his duty to his people before all else.

The royal family saw its own fair share of marriages, Prince Lucerys Targaryen the king’s only surviving brother was wed to Myranda Royce and given a rebuilt Oldstones as his seat of power, they soon enough had children following them on their heels. The king also saw his daughter Daenaerys betrothed to Robb Stark, soon to wed him once the fighting in the north was done. The royal family also welcomed two new members to its ever growing number, Prince Aeryl Targaryen born in 288 A.L. and Princess Samaira Targaryen born in 290 A.L. both of whom had their mothers colouring and personality. The issue of whom the crown prince Maekar should wed was one that was fiercely debated amongst the small council, for King Aemon had not wished for the incest of his family to continue hence why his daughter had wed Robb Stark, there were many suitable maidens that were discussed and the benefits they could bring to the throne, Sansa Stark and Cerenna Lannister could only strengthen family bonds, Margaery Tyrell was already wed to Mern Hightower the heir to Highgarden, Arianne Martell would be the ruling princess of Dorne once her father’s time came, and as such it would not do to have too much power in one place.

Eventually the king decided to see his son wed to Lady Allyria Dayne of Starfall, the king’s goodsister, and the prince’s aunt. And though there was some muttering about the betrothal in court none dare say a word against it in the open. For the king, with the might of the north, the Westerlands, the vale and the Reach behind him was in a position of power that none of his predecessors since perhaps King Jaehaerys the conciliator had been in. None dared plot against him unless they wished to be found out and hung, drawn and quartered. The lords knees remained bent for the fear of the king’s wrath and out of respect, love and loyalty for him as well, for the king though ruthless to those who opposed him could be loving and caring to those who gave him leal service.

In the east the Brightflame Empire became more and more secure. King Maegor Brightflame, who had come to power as a fifteen year old lad, had crushed the invasion led by an alliance of Bravos, Lorath and Qohor on the battlefields of Lhazar and the dragon plains, mustering the armies of the cities under his command. The battles had been fierce and many men had died but Maegor earnt his stripes during that war, burning Lorath to the ground and taking the city of Qohor for all it was worth. Bravos’ Sealord bent the knee and so Bravos was accepted into the Brightflame Empire though there was always the chance of rebellion from that city that had hid from the dragonlords.

Following that war, Maegor Brightflame spent the next five years ensuring his hold on Essos was secure, those regions such as Asshai that none dared venture to were brought into the empire through trade and commerce, those cities that might prove troublesome were won over by marriages and benefactions for raiding against Ibben and the Summer Islands. Maegor himself refused many marriage offers more concerned with seeing his reign secure through trade and peace than through marriage, his own vast array of siblings were his heirs for now was what he was known to say. That remained the case until he met a priestess from Asshai by the name of Melisandre and then his tune changed.

Some would say that the red woman had enslaved the king to her whims through magic, others through her body. But all agreed that now that the king was her husband the empire would expand toward the west as perhaps it should have done right from the beginning. When the Dothraki began threatening the King’s empire led by one Khal Drogo, the Khal turned up dead a few days later outside the gates of Volantis the city where Maegor had made his capital and base, there were whispers of the red woman doing the deed and of shadows being brought forth from the dark.

After the birth of his son Gaemon, and his daughter Daenys, Maegor Brightflame summoned his bannermen from across Essos to Volantis, where the armies of the cities and the sellsword companies and the unsullied came to hear his words and the words of the red woman who was his queen. And the plans for an invasion in the west were made, and soon enough the fleet of the bright dragon set sail from Volantis and from Yunkai and Westeros would shake with the might of the Brightflame who were coming to claim what was theirs, or so Maegor Brightflame swore before the flames of R’Hllor before he set sail, the red woman beside him.

 


	56. The Art Of War

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

Nine years had passed since the Greyjoy Rebellion, nine years in which the realm had prospered, the Ironborn under his uncle Victarion had finally learnt their place and whilst they continued raiding and plundering in places such as the Summer Islands there was no whisperings of discontent. Trade with Essos had come grinding to a half after Bravos had been taken by the Brightflames, and so trade was largely internal, and occasionally done with Sothoros and the lands beyond the sea. Such trade ideas had been suggested by the master of coin Petyr Baelish, Aemon vaguely remembered Baelish from the time he had gone to Riverrun with Brandon, then Baelish had been a boy with ideas above his station, now he was a clever man who had helped the crown during the trouble following the fall of Bravos.

The throne was not in debt, Aemon had made sure of that, but Baelish had a surprising knack for finding routes for trade that would always benefit the crown. Aemon had been surprised at first by how good the man was with money but then he remembered the whole reason why he had been appointed in the first place and as such his surprise lessened. Baelish had been appointed as a customs officer for Runestone in the years following the war of dragons and had been charged with bringing in a suitable level  of tax for Lord Royce, and as such Baelish in the three year period he had serve at Runestone had increased customs intake for Runestone by four times his expected amount. That had seen him rise to become an officer at the Eyrie charged with overseeing the collection of taxes and dues for House Arryn. Baelish had excelled there as well, from 286 to 289 A.L. Baelish brought in five times the amount of revenue his predecessor had whilst also being able to lower taxes on the overall population of the Vale.

Such skill and talent had been noted of course by Tywin, whose daughter was wed to the now Lord of the Eyrie, and so when Damon Celtigar had fallen ill from a fever just after the ending of the Greyjoy rebellion, Petyr Baelish was named the new master of coin. And so far he had done nothing to disappoint, he had lived up to his reputation, new trade contacts had been found to replace those lost in Essos, trade in Westeros was booming and the crown continued to make more and more money, the treasury was overfilling with gold and silver and taxes had not risen for some time. Overall, Aemon was happy with what the man had done though he was still weary of him, considering the rumours he had heard floating around about what Baelish claimed to have done to the Tully sisters. Tywin had advised him to ignore the rumours but to keep an eye on the man nonetheless, and so far nothing had come to support that the rumours were coming from him.

Aemon scratched his beard, and thought about what else had happened in King’s Landing. The Kingsguard that institution that represented knightly values and the guardians of the royal family had seen somewhat of a change in recent years. Ser Gerold Hightower the White Bull had died from wounds during the taking of Pyke, Ser Jonothor Darry had also died during the taking of Pyke, taking with him Urrigon Greyjoy a fierce warrior. Those two stand out knights had been replaced by Ser Lucas Corbray who had proven himself time and time again during the Greyjoy rebellion and the war of the Dragons and Garth’s younger brother Ser Humfrey Hightower also found a place on the Kingsguard for the valor he had shown on the battlefield as well. Ser Brandon Stark, the white wolf was named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and so far all had gone as planned

There had been other developments as well, Aemon had become a grandfather recently. His eldest son Maekar wed to Allyria Dayne had had a son with Allyria, and named him Gaemon, the babe had silver hair and purple eyes a true Targaryen. His daughter Daenaerys continued to remain in King’s Landing awaiting the nod that all was safe for her to travel north for her wedding to Brandon’s son Robb, Brandon and the northmen were still away at the wall waiting for the Wildlings or so the last raven they had received had said. Soon enough there would be pressure for Aemon to find partners for his other children, but as of now he was content to simply allow them to enjoy their childhood.

Essos, that was the problem, the Brightflames had conquered Essos whilst Westeros had been embroiled in its own civil war. The founder of House Brightflame was Aemon’s own great uncle Aerion Targaryen, a mad man who had sired many bastards as he had true born children, the bastards had faded into obscurity, or so Aemon had thought, and the trueborn children ruled Essos now. Maegor Brightflame, Aerion’s great, great grandson had put down the rebellion led by Bravos and had wed a fire priestess, and of course had now set his sights on Westeros.

Aemon had ordered that the royal fleet be alert and on patrol near the narrow sea to see if there were any direct attempts on King’s Landing itself, though he had also asked Stannis Baratheon to have his own fleet of ships ready and prepared. He would not be caught out, not by this fool who was wed to a madwoman. He had heard about the priests of R’Hllor and their mad orders and belief systems. More than likely the woman was using Maegor Brightflame as a way to spread her religion to Westeros as well, Thoros of Myr was a red priest who was part of Aemon’s court though the man had done no preaching or conversions since he had been here, and it did not seem as if he would. Still it would not hurt to keep the man under surveillance for the time being.

Aemon scratched his beard and then nodded to Ser Brandon, and the door to the council chamber opened. Already seated where Lord Tywin Lannister the hand of the king, master of laws Lord Garth Hightower, master of coin Lord Petyr Baelish, master of whispers Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle with Victarion away at sea. Aemon nodded at the council members and then took his seat. “Now then my lords, what do you have for me today?” he asked.

Baelish spoke first. “Well Your Grace, I have good news to report. The Bank of the Throne has exceeded its incomes for this year and has seen ten times the amount of revenue predicted. Our reserves are now overfilling.”

Aemon nodded. “That is good my lord. How are our other accounts doing? The account with the Iron Bank has been completely closed down now has it not?”

Baelish nodded. “Indeed it has Your Grace. All the throne’s last amounts of gold saved up in the Iron Bank have been transferred to the royal bank, and I have sent ravens out to all the lords of the kingdoms advising them to do the same. The Brightflames will not have a scrap of Westerosi gold funding their operations.”

“Good,” Aemon replied. “Now what more news is there for us to discuss my lords?”

“A raven arrived from Castle Black today Your Grace.” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “Writ in the hand of Lord Brandon Stark. He writes that the Wildlings seem to have faded into the shadows for now though sporadic groups do continue attacking the wall now and then. He writes until the threat is completely done he cannot leave for Winterfell. He also asks for some aid to be sent as well.”

“More aid? Does Stark not have the whole of the north up at that frozen wall with him?” Baelish asked.

Aemon silenced the man’s laughter with one look from his vacant eye, the pit of black could scare many a grown and battle hardened man. “Tywin how many men can we spare to send him? The Watch has plenty of men does it not?”

Tywin was silent for a long moment before responding. “The Watch according to last raven we received from their lord commander had lost a great deal of men on a ranging north of the wall. The men holding the wall at present are Stark men. No doubt Lord Stark is asking for more men for the black. We can send some from the dungeons if the need is truly great.”

Aemon nods. “Send the pick of the men from the cells and have them escorted north. Also see if some of these noblemen’s sons will wish to join and take the black. Now what more is there we need to discuss?”

Varys speaks then. “There is Your Grace. Word has come from my sources in Pentos. Another fleet has departed from Pentos and from Tyrosh as well and is sailing for the Stormlands flying the Brightflame banner. They will seek to bring Stannis Baratheon to Maegor Brightflame’s side using information that the man apparently has gained.”

“And do your sources know what information this man claims to have gained and from where he has gained it Lord Varys?” Aemon asked.

Varys tittered slightly. “Ah Your Grace, the information the man claims to have is proof that he should in fact be the king on the iron throne. As you know the man’s great great grandmother was a Blackfyre and he claims he has found proof that would support the claim all Blackfyres have made of House Targaryen since Daemon Blackfyre rose in rebellion with regards to the truth of Daeron the Good’s true parentage.”

“And what would this proof be? A word of an old man? None who were alive during that time still live now. All who knew the good and the unworthy and the black dragon and what happened between Aemon the Dragonknight and his sister are long dead buried. From where could he have found some supposed truth?” Aemon asked.

“His wife Your Grace.” Varys replies. “She claims to know the truth in her flames. And the truth of your great grandsire’s heritage as well.”

Aemon snorted then. “I will not believe that some red woman claims to know the truth of anything. Besides my great grandsire was the trueborn son of King Aerys and Queen Aelinor, all know this. There was never any doubt of that, as surprising as it was. Now what useful information can you give me on Maegor Brightflame, has he fallen for our trap?”

Varys tittered once more causing Aemon to grit his teeth and feel his empty eye flare. “Maegor Brightflame is just like Maegor the Cruel Your Grace. Without the dragon of course. He fights with a two handed great sword, he is as big as Aegon the Conqueror and he is a proven battle commander. He has no experience at sea though, and may fall for the trap Lord Victarion has waiting for him. His other brother Baelon though, Baelon Brightflame will not fall for the trap and that is why he is sailing for Cape Wrath.”

Aemon nodded. “Very well, send a raven to Stannis, and tell him to bar Shipbreaker’s Bay and to call his banners. I will want him to defend the Stormlands from these invaders. Find out what you can about Melisandre Brightflame Varys and if she can be killed I want her killed. Tywin, Garth I want you to return to your homes and call your banners, wait for my letter before marching. If Maegor Brightflame has any sense he will land on Maidenpool and try and take the Riverlands. Hoster Tully must needs be notified as well. Now if there is nothing more you may leave. Tywin, Pycelle remain.” The other lords left and once the door was closed, Aemon sagged and then grabbed his eye.

“Do you need a lotion for the pain Your Grace?” Pycelle asked his voice high with concern.

Through gritted teeth Aemon responded. “No I am fine. Now what news do you have on Varys, have you found out who it is he gets his information from across the narrow sea?”

Pycelle was silent for a moment and then replied. “His friend the cheesemonger, Illyrio Mopatis Your Grace. The man fought in many wars during the years preceding the Brightflame conquest, including for the Golden Company.”

“Did Mopatis survive the occupation of Pentos?” Aemon asks.

“He funded it Your Grace. He is backing the Brightflames throughout Essos whether he does so now in Westeros is another matter.” Pycelle replies.

“Very well. Keep digging Pycelle. Tywin call your banners and send Clegane here, he might be needed should Varys need to be removed from the board.” Aemon replied.


	57. Desolation

**Lord Victarion Greyjoy**

The waves of the narrow sea lapped at the ships of the Royal Fleet, Victarion Greyjoy was stood next to the wheel of the ship staring out into the vastness of the waves. He had grown up on the waves, had lived and fought on the waves, this was where he belonged not on the land debating politics and intrigue. This was what he was made for, and he intended to write yet another glorious song of what he and his men were to do today. The Brightflame fleet had been spotted, off the coast of what was known as the Sailor’s Doom, a stretch of land jutting out from the middle of nowhere where ships had been know to maroon on occasion for years at a time.

Whoever was leading the Brightflame fleet was either mad or stupid or both, no sane sailor would ever dare go near the Doom, not even if the whole wealth of Westeros was on offer and yet that was where they were heading now to give battle and draw them away from Westeros and save the kingdoms more war. Peace had been good to Victarion, but some part of him hungered for war, better it is out on the waves where he would know what to do than on land.

Beside him his second son Dagon stands still, not moving and not saying anything merely standing and staring. Dagon was always a quiet lad, never as loud nor robust as Harlon, still a good sailor and a better fighter, someday he would take command of the Iron Victory and lead her to more glory. Today though he would serve as Victarion’s second in command. “What do you see son?” Victarion asked his second son.

Dagon was silent for a moment before he responded. “The waves are pushing us close to the doom and those fools out near it. Whether we survive or not will depend on whether they fall for the trap.”

The trap Dagon spoke of was the chain, dragged by each of the 200 ships that made up the royal fleet, they would sail close to the doom and then drop anchor and unleash the chain and then sail away once they were a safe distance away the torches would be lit and thrown. Wildfire, it had served him twice now, it would serve for a third time. “My lord,” Nute the barber said coming up to Victarion’s shoulder. “Their masts have been spotted on the horizon.”

Victarion nodded and said. “Give the signal, it is time dropped the chain.” The chain was dropped, and yet even as they were moving their own ships away from the inferno that was soon to erupt, more enemy ships appeared from behind them. “We’re surrounded. Unleash arrows.” Victarion shouted, men began boarding the ships and Victarion un- slung his axe and the fighting began.

This was what was good about fighting on the sea not the fire, but the feel of steel on steel above the waves. Swinging his axe Victarion growled and growled and swung and killed and swung and killed. Some bastard cut him but then soon enough was dead slain by axe and steel. The fighting went on, swinging, hacking, blocking and dodging. Victarion ran through the men who had boarded his ship and then with the battle lust on him jumped onto other ships and began the same process there.

On it went through the ships, hacking and slashing fighting for their lives, hacking and slashing, hacking, cutting, ducking and dodging on and on it went. Victarion took cuts and bruises but still he fought on cutting his way through a third ship that had been boarded by enemies. Hacking, his axe was red with blood, covered with the same slippery substance that it had been against the Redwynes.  On and on and on and on and on, through the fog of battle he ploughed on, hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing. The chain lay forgotten and unlit though the enemy ships could not come to aid their allies, watching helplessly as their comrades were slain.

There was much more discipline amongst the royal soldiers than there had been amongst the Ironborn a fact that both gave Victarion pride and hurt his pride at the same time. On and on they fought, discipline and skill meeting together to end the troops the Brightflame had sent to fight them. A horn was sounded and then another, and then another. Still men kept coming at Victarion and Victarion slew them, they would get no ground from him, another horn sounded. “Where are those horns coming from?” he bellowed during a lull in the fighting.

“From beyond the chain my lord.” Ser Montague replied. “They are calling for aid I think or perhaps for a truce.”

Victarion grunted. “No truce, tell the men to burn the chain.”

The order was given and soon enough the ships pulled away the chain sank into the water and then rose once more when the enemy ships tried to cross through it. Cutting them down to wood and splinter, their crews died screaming, pain and agony, on it went, on and on. “Light the torches and throw.” Victarion said and it was done. Death and destruction that was what war was, and that was what Victarion excelled in. Death and destruction, all he knew was death and destruction.

The flames burned brightly, high in the sky when Ser Montague came to him once more. “There is news from the rest of the battle if you would hear it my lord.”

“Speak then.” Victarion said.

“Their fleet was destroyed though it was but a probe. Or so one of the prisoners says. Your son Dagon died slaying one of the Brightflame princes, and some of our ships have damage that will need repairs on Tarth.” Montague said ever to the point.

“This prisoner where is he?” Victarion asked.

“On the Iron Victory my lord. Would you speak with him now?” Montague questioned.

“Aye I would. Show me to him.” Victarion responded, and so when they boarded his ship, he saw his son Dagon’s body covered with blood and dirt, and his eyes closed, he said a silent prayer and walked on. The prisoner was dark as night, and tattered and torn raving it seemed though he straightened out when he saw Victarion. “You say this attack was a probe? What do you mean?”

The man laughed and raved and then turned serious as if possessed. “Maegor Brightflame is no fool, he bears the name of a cruel dragon but has the cunning of the smartest one. The probe was to distract the royal fleet from the main action. Fleets are sailing forth for all ports of call. Destruction will happen and the red one shall triumph. Your time is ending.”

“What is this madness?” Victarion growled but the man would speak no more. “Kill him, and send word to King’s Landing to warn them of further attacks and ask for more instructions. We must dock in at Tarth.”

And so on the fifth day of the third month of the 298th year after Aegon’s Landing, the war of the Brightflame had truly begun with the ending of the battle of the narrow sea. More death and destruction would soon follow.


	58. Sound The Horn

****

**Lord Brandon Stark**

Winter is coming, those were the words of his house, and they had always sounded ominous, even during the winters Brandon had seen as a child, he had laughed at them and thought that winter would never come for him and his. He was the wild wolf and he bowed to nothing, he knew different now. He had a family to care for and look after, his wife was his rock, anchoring him to real life and away from the fantasies of his youth, his children Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon all gave him joy, joy he had never thought to have again when Lya died, and every day he cursed that damned fool Rhaegar for taking advantage of a girl who dreamed.

His son Robb was a man grown and soon to be wedded once this damnable war in the north was done. His son was sixteen years old, tall and broad of shoulder like Brandon himself, with a mop of fiery auburn hair a sign of his Tully heritage, though there was the mischievousness that Brandon recognised from his own youth. His son had proven to be a good soldier and even better commander; during the battle of the skulls Robb had commanded the northern flank whilst Brandon had charged the host. Both of them had scattered the wildlings and sent them cowering back beyond the wall.

And yet the wildlings remained, an ever present threat beyond the wall, hiding in the shadows and waiting for their next chance to move. Brandon’s youngest brother Benjen was now Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch replacing the slain Jeor Mormont and had taken steps to ensure that the Watch and its castles were as garrisoned as they could be, the men sent from King’s Landing were put under the command of those experienced commanders Ser Allister Thorne and Ser Bowen Marsh and others like them and were told to hold the wall at all costs.

Something was forcing the wildlings south of the wall, or atleast forcing their attempts at coming south. Mance Rayder the king beyond the wall, the first one of those in  nearly one hundred and thirty years had assembled a large host, made up of wildlings and giants and other things that Brandon had long thought only existed in stories. Benjen had told them that such groups never mixed beyond the wall and that there must be something truly terrible out there to force all the warring groups to merge together. Aye something terrible indeed, Brandon had read his grandfather’s journal and had read the notations his own father had made about the writings there. At first he had been sceptical and then he had heard of what had happened on the Fist and something had clicked something, some ancient evil was coming back, and if they let the wildlings through something might happen to allow this other darkness through.

It was a point that was heavily contested between the three Stark brothers. “Our grandfather was not known for being completely sane or the most rational of people Brandon. It is perfectly possible that these are the rantings and ravings of a mad man.” Ned had said when Brandon had brought this up during a meeting in Castle Black.

“But our father has commented on the ravings of our grandfather and seemed convinced that what he was saying would come true. And you cannot say that our father was mad Ned, for if you did I would name you liar.” Brandon had replied heatedly.

“So are you saying that you believe in snarks and grumpkins as well then Brandon? The wildlings have been the enemies of the north for a long time, since the wall went up in fact. Mance Rayder must be trying to lead them all south once more with promises of riches and gold. What more could he offer them?” Ned had argued back.

“A safe haven perhaps? Benjen has already told us what he saw on the Fist, and there are giants in their army Ned. Snarks and grumpkins might not be real, but we sure as hell know that giants are now. What’s to say there isn’t something more out there, some other darkness. If there is it is our duty as northmen to fight it and defeat it.” Brandon had stated.

Ned had sighed then. His eyes troubled. “If there is something out there, is it not our duty, or rather your duty to alert the king as well, to let him know of our need. For the men of the north and the watch will not be enough to stop whatever other strength is out there if there is anything out there that could force the wildlings to join together.”

Brandon had hesitated then, for though he knew that his friend would listen to what he had to say, there were those who would bid him to focus on the south and as such he did not wish to trouble Aemon with problems that might not be all that persistent. “Aemon has enough problems of his own without me adding to them just now. We do not know the full truth of what is out there and until we do then we cannot act on it.”

Ned had seized on that. “So you do admit to being uncertain as to the truth of what is happening beyond the wall then? I knew it, we must discuss this with those more in the know than us brother. We cannot look like fools before the others.”

And so they had brought their findings and their beliefs to maester Aemon, Castle Black’s age old maester. The man had sat in silence and listened to their words and then in his ponderous tone had said. “These are indeed troubling times my lords. Wildlings have marched south again, and this time the giants have come with them. I have lived a long time, and never have I seen giants move with wildlings as a united force. Something must be stirring beyond the wall to merit such a mass movement of their people and the giants. If we continue to fight them, the Watch will bleed as will the north. There might be another solution to the problem we face.”

“You cannot mean making peace with the Free Folk maester Aemon. They have killed as many of us as we have of them, and they are the ones threatening the peace we are sworn to defend.” Benjen had said then.

“It might be the only way to prevent a wholesale massacre my lord. Think on it if you will.” Maester Aemon had said.

And they had discussed it all of them brothers of the watch and the northern lords, and eventually it was agreed that an envoy would be sent to find out was Mance Rayder and his men wanted. The envoy had not returned as of yet and had been sent four days ago, news had trickled in from the south. War was raging there, as Aemon fought yet another threat to his throne. The Brightflames were invading and waging war on the Stormlands and the Riverlands, when he had read that he knew Cat would be troubled and willing for her husband back, but he had a duty in the north and he intended to see it out.

“Father,” his son Robb said stirring him from his thoughts. “Uncle Ned is looking for you.”

Brandon nodded got up, and found his brother standing on one of the walls facing north, Brandon joined his brother to look out and see the fog and the mist. “It is not clearing and there will be more fighting before it is all done.” Ned said his voice ominous.

Brandon was about to respond when the sound of horns was heard throughout the wall. One blast, rangers returning, two blasts wildlings, silence, and then a roar. They were to fight once more, Mance Rayder had given his answer.


	59. Hear The Lions Roar

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

He could feel the aches and creaks in his bones; he was getting too old for this. Suiting up in armour and dealing with the din of battle, he was no longer a young man, really he should have left Jaime to do the leading of the men, but the king had asked him to call the banners and he would lead his men one final time before he hung up his sword and retired. He looked forward to that day, his sons had grown into adults, men to be proud of Jaime was everything and more that Tywin had expected of his son from the moment he had held him in his arms all those years ago, a fierce warrior and brilliant commander, a good lord in his own right. Tyrion, though short, was smart, if not smarter than a maester and though he had a like for drink that was not exactly to Tywin’s taste he was shrewd and cunning and would make Jaime a fine right hand just as Kevan had done for Tywin for all these years.

His daughter, he knew little of since her wedding day he had not seen her nor heard from her. It seemed as if Cersei was trying to cut him out of her life, though for what he was not entirely sure. It certainly seemed as if she loved her husband and her children, and Tywin did deeply hope that she had become saner since being away from Casterly Rock and that she was not still so resentful of what had happened all those years ago. He knew Joanna kept in contact with Cersei and from the things she had told him, it seemed as if his daughter was enjoying the Vale and her husband, and that her children Joffrey, Artys and Myrcella were all very smart and bright children. Though whether they would measure up to Tygett and Lucion and Jaime’s daughters was another matter entirely.

Tywin’s eldest grandson Tygett reminded him a lot of Jaime when he had been a child, and more so of Gerion, the mischievous side to him was still present even now that he was a man grown and was wedded and with a child on the way himself. Still he also shared Jaime’s skill of becoming very serious where battle was concerned and shared Jaime’s skill for weapons and perhaps he might even have a shrewder mind than his father as well when it came to politics, Tywin certainly hoped so. Lucion, Jaime’s other son was nothing of note, not book smart and not sword smart he seemed the typical second son able to follow orders and not much else. The girls Joanna and Cerenna were perfect ladies, and Tywin still felt some frustration at the fact that once more a Dayne had taken the spot of queen next to the prince of Dragonstone. He had tried to persuade the king to look at others besides Allyria Dayne but Aemon would not budge on the matter, when he set his mind to something he rarely let it go.

Still there were other sons and other lords and heirs to consider and plenty of time as well, this threat was only going to be a passing one Tywin knew, no one would take the Brightflames seriously now. They had fought a sea battle against the royal fleet that had proven to be a distraction to allow the main body of the invading army to land at different points. The Stormlords had fought a fierce battle against the Unsullied regiment of the army at Cape Wrath with the Stormlords led by Lord Stannis Baratheon managing to defeat the Unsullied just about through some method or the other. Another contingent of men from Tyrosh, Myr and Lys had landed in the Reach and had swept up the rose kingdom before fighting those forces that had not already been spent on the mander where Lord Garth Hightower had won Highgarden during the War of the Dragons. The impenetrable rock that was Greysteel once again won out against the foe, and smashed the force of men which were supposedly commanded by Maegor Brightflame’s uncle Aegor, the man himself was slain his head sent to King’s Landing.

Tywin had learnt about all of this whilst riding for the Rock, he was at the Golden Tooth when a rider arrived from Riverrun asking for help. Maegor Brightflame had landed the largest portion of his host in Maidenpool and after putting that town to the sword had marched through the Riverlands burning and pillaging as he went along. Some called that brutal and unnecessary, Tywin thought it clever the man was damaging the reputation of his men but was also filling his coffers at the same time. Regardless of that though, with Hoster Tully ailing, it was left to his inexperienced son Edmure to lead the men of the Riverlands, and at the battle of the Red Fork the forces met and the Riverlords were crushed, their host smashed and scattered Tully taken prisoner. Lord Blackwood had led those that had not fled back to Riverrun and had barred the gates. Maegor Brightflame had sent his best generals to Riverrun to lay siege to the place and take it if possible.

Tywin had called his banners and had fought a battle with a force sent by Maegor Brightflame meant to distract him from aiding Riverrun in the passageways underneath the Golden Tooth. The battle had been fierce and tense, many men had lost their life that day, but the battle had eventually been won. A pincer movement led by Jaime and Tygett the elder had crushed the Brightflame host underneath the mount of the Lion and so Riverrun was there for the freeing, or at least that was what they had thought then and there.

It seemed the commander of the siege had decided to revert course and march for their host and their position, Tywin had called for more men and as such was waiting for them to arrive, waiting in the pass on top of the Tooth, waiting and waiting whilst Winter began to settle in and his men grew weary. This might very well be the undoing of the Brightflame cause for good. This was why he had called a meeting of his bannermen to discuss their next move. The lords present were all seasoned warriors, veterans of many a battle. Lord Loren Reyne, Lord Lefford, Lord Damon Marbrand, Lord Crakehall, Lord Brax, Lord Sarsfield, Tygett the elder and Gerion and Jaime. All were good men and warriors and he would hear their views before he made a decision that could possibly influence the whole war.

Lord Lefford spoke first, his voice quavering with age. “Our scouts report that the army is but a day away my lords. Growing smaller and smaller with every passing day as they are picked off by angry peasants and stray riverlords.”

“Do the scouts say if any of the lesser riverlords have joined them?” Jaime asked.

“Yes my lord. Lords Charlton, Roote and Terrick, have all aligned their banners and their men to the Brightflame cause and are marching with the man commanding the host.” Lefford replied.

“All lesser lordlings the three of them. Together they could probably only muster around 500 men, what good will they do in the face of a 12,000 strong host?” Lord Crakehall asked his voice booming.

“Lambs to the slaughter.” Lord Reyne replied. “Whoever commands their host will offer these men up as offerings for us to take and bend our men to. And then he will hit us from the sides as we gorge on them. We’ll turn blind if we go after them.”

“Do we know who is actually leading this godsforsaken host of men or not? Is it a Brightflame is it the red woman or is it some savage from across the narrow sea?” Tygett said impatiently.

“The scouts did not get a clear look at the face of the commander my lord. They only had time to see the banners before they rode back hard for our camp.” Lord Lefford stammered.

Tygett scowled then but before he could say anything harsh Tywin spoke. “It matters not who leads their host. It will not be Maegor Brightflame himself, the king marches to face the pretender on the Trident. Our duty is to see this force dealt with and crushed, so that we can attack Maegor’s host in the rear.”

Silence and then Lord Marbrand asked. “What would you have us do my lord?”

Tywin was silent for a moment and the he spoke. “We shall assemble underneath the Lion’s mouth and from there break up into four different factions. Lord Loren shall command the Van, Jaime shall command the right, Lord Crakehall the left, the centre shall be commanded by Ser Gregor and I shall lead the reserve. Lord Crakehall and Lord Loren shall march forth first from the mouth and give chase to the approaching army, fight them and scatter their men, Jaime you shall wheel in and attack from the side. The centre and the reserve will then come in and smash from the middle.”

Later that day the host assembles and they ride for the Lion’s Mouth, a deep cavernous rock face with good cover, from the distance Tywin can spy the enemy host riding towards the pass. Their banners a flaming dragon enclosed in a red heart flapping in the wind, no red woman insight, perhaps she is with the pretender and if so then Tywin sincerely hopes and prays she is killed soon enough. When the enemy host is close towards the passageway Tywin nods and the signal is given, and soon enough the van and the left ride out for the first movement of the battle. Then Jaime rides out with his men and Tywin feels the nerves begin to flutter in his stomach.

The battle rages down below the mouth, and Tywin sits stock still willing his heart to settle down, and then when he hears the sounding of the drums, and the rains beginning to call, he spurs his horse on and leads the charge of the reserve, time for war. On he rides, his horse galloping through mud, rain and blood, and when the first foe comes towards him he hacks at them and cuts them down, riding on and repeating the process over and over and over again. His sword is stained red before too long, and still he rides on hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing.

On it goes, hacking and slashing, men fall to their deaths like they are nothing more than body bags, sacks of meat, which they truly are when you stop to think about it. Still on he fights, his joints might be aching, and his body might be tiring quicker than it did seventeen years ago, but still he fights. Slashing, cutting and ducking, he takes a blow to the chest, and the offender is cut down with brutal simplicity. Around him the sounds of men fighting and dying are echoing around underneath the pass, the rock providing the echo. On they fight.

The battle rages on, Tywin keeps an eye out for Jaime but does not see him, he does not have too much time to think on that fact as the tide of battle brings him face to face with more men and the fighting continues. His sword, his armour and his mind are stained red with blood when he realises that no more men are coming towards him, no more men are fighting, no clashing of steel, nothing. Emptiness, the battle is won. Riverrun is free, and the Brightflames have one less force out on the field. “To the Trident.” Tywin says once the men are done celebrating. The new year is celebrated in style.


	60. See No Evil, Fear No Evil

**Lord Brandon Stark**

The cold was nigh unbearable, men were dying from frostbite and from the blizzards that always stuck around for most of the night, or was it day, this far north it was hard to tell. The wildlings had been thrown back during their attempted assault on the wall, not by the northmen but by the darkness that lay beyond. The very thing that had driven them all south in the first place had come to kill them all. Death walked on two legs, with pale blue skin and ice cold eyes, the Ice Eyes come to life. White Walkers, the Others call them what you will but they were living death. With them they brought an army of the undead, wights, and all of that that was evil and fairytale.

The wildlings had not stood a chance, they had been butchered right where they were as they tried to retreat, horns were blown by the undead continued to march. The screams of the dying haunted Brandon’s every waking moment, and still it continued going on, outside Castle Black, Eastwatch, the Shadow Tower all were becoming living pyres, the black brothers were trapped inside, otherwise the defences of the wall were useless, a black brother needed to be inside the castle, one of the three remaining castles otherwise the defences failed and butchery happened.

There were no more wildlings, or atleast none had survived the fog, those that had were now either fled to the passes or behind the wall fighting for survival alongside the crows. Something had to be done, they had spent a whole year walled up inside Castle Black before, a decision had been made. Another ranging, made up some small portion of crows, and much larger portions of Free Folk and Northmen would go ranging north of the wall to find out all they could about the White Walkers and the living death they brought.

So far their findings had been limited; the White Walkers were susceptible to Dragonglass, and Dragon Steel. Ice had sliced through many of those who had come to near it, as had Longclaw the sword wielded by Jorah Mormont Lord of Bear Island. The wights burned by fire, and never rose up again once torched. Fighting with flame in one hand had become second nature to the men now. There were other things, things Brandon could not remember, from the time he was a child. No ravens could be sent asking for this information though, the north was engulfed in Winter and the south in war.

Ser Allister Thorne had fallen to the White Walkers two moons into their ranging, sliced and diced by the biggest bastard of the lot that Brandon had ever seen, on and on their line of undead spread and only the swords of dragon steel had defended them though they had but two of the swords needed. They had been out on this ranging now for nearly a year, and no more news had come from the wall, not that any would have been able to find them. Hells even Benjen had no idea where they were, only that they were somewhere where no man had ever been before.

Caves, lots of caves dotted this part of the land, the snow covered land, caves, crows, shadowcats, direwolves and other things Brandon had always thought part of fable. One attack of White Walkers had occurred since they had entered this place, it was almost as if they were scared of venturing into it, they had melted when attacking Ned. Ned his little brother was injured, somewhere further back on the train, they were camped for now, or at least they had been. It was getting harder to keep track of time here, far too difficult when the sun rose for a minute and then set again, and the creatures of the dark arose and caused havoc and chaos.

“We need to enter that cave.” Benjen said sounding weary and tired, and broken.

“Which one Ben? They all look the bloody same.” Brandon grumbled.

“That one. The one with the direwolf standing in front of it. Where’s Robb Brandon?” Benjen asked.

“He’s sleeping Ben. Why?” Brandon asked.

“Leave him be but get his direwolf and bring him with us.” Benjen replied and so Brandon complied, Greywind was a big beast now, bigger than his mother.

They trudged through the snow, tiredness making them drag their feet as Greywind continued bounding along, the direwolf guarding the cave sniffed Greywind briefly before moving into the cave. Cocking its head back it growled and then Greywind followed and so too did Brandon and Benjen. They walked through endless passageways which had the runes of the first men and words even more primitive engraved on them, a stench hung in the air as well. On they walked though, through it all and through the pain.

Eventually they came to an intersection, where the guardian direwolf looked at Benjen and then walked into one of the tunnels. Greywind looked at Brandon and then walked into another. “I suppose this is where we part then brother.” Benjen said.

Brandon nodded. “Remember little brother, if anything happens blow your horn, and I will come.” And with that they parted, through the tunnel Brandon walked, the cavernous darkness was maddening, someone could go mad in it and no one would ever know.

Eventually Greywind stopped walking and simply stood in front of a tree, a weirwood tree, a bloody big weirwood tree which had the weeping face and the blood red tears similar to the one back home in Winterfell. There were creatures gathered around its base, dwarves and snakes and shadowcats and all kinds of other things. And then the tree’s eyes opened, and Brandon thought he might very well feint. “I have waited for you....Brandon Stark.” The eyes seemed to say though no voice was heard aloud. And then the thing opened its mouth and actually spoke, its voice hoarse with disuse. “Brandon Stark the younger. My you have grown. It has been too long since I saw you last. But of course, I died did I not?”

“Who are you?” Brandon asked though he was sure he knew the answer.

The mouth curved into a smile. “I am the last greenseer, the one whose power rests with the songs and the stars. I am the old gods incarnate. But to you I was known as Edwyle Stark.”

“Grandfather?” Brandon asked astonished. “But how is that possible? Father said you died.”

“Your father lied Brandon,” Edwyle Stark said. “I asked him to though. Only he and your uncle needed to know where I had gone and why. Of course you have seen the darkness, and now you know why you are here.”

“No I don’t actually. And how am I to know you are who you say you are? For all I know this could be a trap and there are actually more dead things waiting to kill me and Benjen.” Brandon fumed.

The tree laughed then, actually laughed. “Oh Brandon, always so quick to accuse and never to accept. Very well, if I must prove myself to you then I shall. When you were eight you rode a horse, a stallion that your father had told you not to ride, when the stallion threw a shoe later on during the day, your father asked all the stable boys what had happened and then asked you. You blamed someone named Terry and then helped Terry get away with a crime you committed.”

Brandon was silent. And then said. “My father found that one out years ago.”

The tree smiled then and then said. “You know about the journal and were sceptical about it at first but now you are sure that the ice is consuming all and only the builder’s descendant can save the world.”

Brandon was silent, stunned. “How would you know about that?”

“Because, the crow and the wolf danced once upon a time and the darkness was beaten. But the dragon and the false one are fighting now, and the wolf is all alone in the darkness.” The tree replied. “If you need more proof I will be happy to provide Brandon. But we do not have much time.”

“Why am I here and why has Benjen been led to a different tunnel?” Brandon asked then.

The tree sighed then. “Because you both need to know different things. You are the one who has been chosen to defend the realm from the darkness, and face the Great Other. And Benjen is the one who has another task.”

“Where do the White Walkers come from? I thought they had all died out during the Age of Heroes?” Brandon stated.

“They did not die, that was something the maesters and septons wanted everyone to believe so as to quash the quest for magic that was why the Targaryen dragons are dead as well. The White Walkers come from the lands of always winter, but they do not inhabit all of the land as some think. They only exist in the border between their land and the lands of the free folk. The true threat is just about stirring, the Great Other, the king of death, the Night’s King all the same thing the same being. The darkness of humanity, given shape and form. Wars and death have caused the being to re awaken, and only you can stop it.”

“How can I stop it? I have no dragons, no giants. I am only one man, a tired man at that.” Brandon replied.

“Think. The sword you wield is called Ice, forged in the flames of Valyria some four hundred years ago, but the original Ice was passed down from Stark to Stark from the days of Brandon the Builder. The sword makes no difference, the name does. Ice has protected the north from harm all these years just as Blackfyre and Dark Sister saved the Targaryens from the doom. They represent a power that was once long forgotten after the long night. For the Great Other to be defeated, Ice must become itself once more, the flames must be rekindled.”

“What do you mean rekindled?” Brandon asked. “With what fire?”

“You already have that answer Brandon. You have the fire and the weapons for your men, but your fire must be personal. Go now, the time draws near. The dark one moves south.” His grandfather replied.

Brandon found himself being dragged away by the various beasts that were present, “Wait!” he bellowed. “How will I know if I’m doing the right thing?”

There was no response and soon enough he found himself out of the cliff face and back facing his brother, who seemed scared and shell shocked. “Did you speak with the weirwood tree brother?” Benjen asked. Brandon nodded. “Well then, at least I know I’m not going crazy.” With that his brother walked off and mounted his horse.

They rode in silence, some tension that had not been there before filling the gap between them. When they came back to their campsite, they found the place deserted, blood everywhere, and bodies strewn on the ground. “FATHER!” He heard a voice shout, he turned round and saw Robb staggering towards him drenched in blood and snow.

“Robb!” Brandon said grabbing his son before he fell. “What happened son? Where’s Ned gone where have the men gone?”

“Gone.... dead. Killed by White Walkers.” Robb said, sobbing.

“All of them? When did they come? How many?” Brandon asked.

His son shook his head. “I don’t know father, I am sorry, I failed.”

“No my lad, you did fine now stay with Greywind and hold onto this dagger. Benjen light the fires.” Brandon said, and so he and his brother worked with a pace unmatched before as they put the dragonglass weapons they had in a circle around them and then lit them all at once with a great torch. Brandon drew Ice from its sheath and Benjen drew a bow and some dragonglass arrows. “They will be attracted to the scent of the blood, when they come shoot them Ben.” Brandon said.

“Father. I see men coming from behind us.” Robb said sounding small jsut as he had when he was a child.

Brandon turned round and saw men staggering towards them, not the undead, but wounded men, led by Ned. “Ned!” Brandon yelled. “Are you well?”

“Aye,” his brother yelled back. “We lost some men on the way but we are well. Most of the White Walkers are done for Brandon; fire did for them, the wildfire. Some are still here though somewhere.”

“Brandon, I can hear them coming. Ned needs to make a circle of fire and quickly.” Benjen said warningly.

Brandon nodded and then yelled across at his brother. “Ned make a circle with whatever dragonglass weapons you have left and light a fire on them. The white walkers won’t be able to cross and damage you then.”

He kept Ice raised high as he watched his brother and his brother’s men make the circle, praying that they would make it in time. As soon as Ned began limping and the cold set in though he knew they were in for trouble. He bellowed at his brother, but his voice caught in his throat, the darkness returned and then fighting began.  You see fire can only do so much to hold back something that is already dead, and though the wights burnt to dust and remained that way, the bodies that were sent the northerners’ way were far too great to count, once they burnt themselves on the flames of the circles, the white walkers sent in the cavalry. The undead giants that could crush a normal man, those not quick enough to get into the circles were killed and came back again as dead things.

The fighting lasted well into the night and the morning and the night again and on and on it went, flames were set, arrows fired, spears fired, swords thrown anything that would halt the advance of the White Walkers. By the third night, the men were exhausted and tired and without hope, the wights were all gone, the white walkers were less in number but seemed to be growing stronger, the arrows did nothing to them, and there were more and more dead men on the ground that for some reason did not rise up as dead men.

The fighting wore on and on and still there was no sign of the King of Death, men were slaughtered, and Brandon watched this all with a sense of horror and a sense of resignation, the Great Death was upon them soon enough the wall would fall and the death would enslave the world, an endless winter. And then on the seventh night of fighting, Benjen blew the horn that he had found in the pass, and the fighting stopped, and the ice began to melt. Then an earth shattering cry was heard, and the king of death made his appearance at last.

Brandon watched as death slayed his brother there and then not with a scythe or a sword but with his bare hands. Benjen Stark slumped to the ground and the fires died out, and the world came to a halt as the final battle began. It seemed like a lifetime as Brandon stood there watching death, and death watched him a crown and a smile on its face. And then the duel began. Swinging and slashing, each cut stung with cold, each block hurt and wounded him a little more, the rage was there though, the pure hot rage that he felt, it fuelled him and kept him going through the blood soaked agony that was this war.

A swing, a block, a swing, a block, a cut, a scream, a swing, a block that was Brandon’s way of fighting the Great Other that thing that knows no bounds, that has been named death by those who had forgotten its true purpose. The fighting wore on and on, as others tried to interfere they were slain or wounded, and still the fighting wore on. Brandon gave as well as he got, wounding death several times and coming close to killing it on a occasion. But still Brandon felt as if he were dying, his wounds were bleeding, the silence was killing him more than anything.

A swing, a thrust, his knees gave way and he thanked them for it for he missed the killing blow.  Had this been a normal opponent a boast would have come from forcing the legendary lord of Winterfell to his knees but nothing was said, for death has no voice and no words with which to speak. Only the pain and the pure agony conveyed anything that Death had to say to Brandon Stark. Still he thought onward, the pain pushing him on the grief as well, he knew not where his son or his sole remaining sibling were, but he fought for them as he fought for Cat and their other children safe in Winterfell.

From the tracks of his blood and tears came the fire that needed Ice to become what it symbolised the rule of the north by the Kings of Winter, Brandon Stark, the lord of a house so old in heritage that the maesters have forgotten where it comes from, found the strength he needed to continue through human emotion. Death cannot hold human emotion, and the screams that it gave when Ice pierced through its armour, the coldness and the heat and the pain and the love and all those wonderful emotions caused death itself to die, from blood and sweat and the tears, Brandon Stark did as his ancestor had done and won. The Ice and the Fire were found that day, and the light came back from the dark.

On the third day of the third moon of the 300th year after Aegon’s Landing, Brandon Stark and his northmen returned to Castle Black to find the castle manned but covered in snow and blood. The battle had ended but the recovery was nowhere near from beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	61. The Last Serenade

**King Aemon I Targaryen**

Another war was decided on the turbulent waters of the Trident, eighteen years ago it was the war of the dragons, and Blackfyre and Dark Sister met for the one and only time in their history in combat, Blackfyre emerged triumphant then. On the fifth day of the fifth month of the 300th year after Aegon’s Landing another battle was fought, this time between the forces of Maegor Brightflame the pretender to the Iron Throne and King Aemon Targaryen the King on the Iron Throne. Maegor Brightflame came into this battle having lost his hold over Riverrun, his forces bled dry in the Reach and his forces in the Stormlands gone or turned to dust. This was his final battle the one that would determine whether or not he would win. For such an important battle one would have thought Brightflame would have wanted to use all of his important weapons, but this was not the case. His wife the red witch Melisandre had been left behind in their camp, for Maegor did not want men to say that his victory was won by her.

It would turn out to be the nail in his coffin. All these months later and Aemon can still remember the first cry of battle, his host of 15,000 Crownlords and the host that Brightflame had assembled some 14,000 men met in heated battle. Aemon fought like the warrior on that day or so he was told, hacking and slashing his way through men, battle hardened men and the supposed best fighters in the whole of Essos. They all fell to his blade and the blades of his men like they were nothing more than sacks of meat, Aemon had learnt over time that that was all anyone really was, a sack of meat with a limited lifespan. That was what had made it easier for him to continue to cut through the men and their cries and the blood.

Gods the blood had been something, he had thought the Trident had been bad but it seemed as if the gods wanted to play a joke on them all, the fewer men did not mean less blood in fact it seemed to mean more. More and more men died and more blood was added to the water of the river, and the fighting continued. Aemon hacked his way through men keeping an eye on his sons Maekar and Laenor as well as Aegon, the fighting continued, through the tides Aemon fought, his blade was bloody and his adrenaline was keeping him going through the shock of it all.

He felt invincible none could touch him that day, none could lay a sword or a weapon on him he cut them all down to bloody swathes. The gods sought fit to bring him face to face with the pretender Maegor Brightflame was slight of build and lithe in person but bulky and bull like in armour. A fierce fighter with a big greatsword, they met in a clash of steel, sparks ignited from the contact of their swords, on and on they fought strength against skill. Brightflame was strong, Aemon would give him that but he had lacked patience, Aemon ducked some of his more fierce swings and predicted some of the rest and found a chink in his technique exploiting it to the full, though his invincibility lessened as he did so. He received a fair few blows and dents and for a time it felt as if he was fighting on autopilot but eventually he triumphed, whereas against Rhaegar their fight had been elegant and sung about, this was a scarp pure and simple. At the end with a thrust and slash Maegor Brightflame fell to his death on the banks of the Trident.

His men broke rank once they realised their king was dead, but this time Aemon would not let fall back to their ships, he had seen the destruction they had wrought in Maidenpool, he had vengeance in his heart when he ordered the chase of the enemy. A butchery that was what the Brightflame host’s retreat became, the river became the anvil, Aemon’s army the hammer, and the blood stained the river red, and then green, the banks grew and once it was done there were no soldiers left standing from the Brightflame’s side. Aemon was not done though, he led his remaining men to the Brightflame camp and there judgement was passed.

Maegor Brightflame’s commanders and brothers and uncles alike were trialled and executed, some were hung drawn and quartered, most died pleading for mercy others died silent and some even died fighting. All died though, and then when it came to the red whore, Melisandre of Asshai, Aemon hesitated for a moment, on the one hand this woman was an enemy, the enemy queen and a shadow binder besides, but on the other she was also a mother, and her children were across the narrow sea could he truly afford to make them orphans?

He debated the issue for some time, some of his commanders, those that were left argued for her death, others such as Velaryon argued she be spared saying the gods would not look favourably on the death of an innocent woman. It was Tywin who finally made the decision for Aemon. The lion of the west informed him that the woman had been plotting the death of Ashara and their children, and that she had caused most of the devastation along the riverlands with her fires and her ‘power.’ The woman did not deny it merely stating that Aemon had doomed the world with the slaying of Maegor Brightflame. For all her ethereal being, she died screaming like any other person when Aemon had her fed to her own flames, a night fire and an example for those who would turn traitor. The war was done but winter was just settling in.

Aemon had returned home to the news that Brandon and the northmen had defeated the wildlings and that other threat at the wall, and that the north was now in the process of healing. And that Brandon was considering allowing the wildlings to settle on parts of the gift as well as in other parts of the north. Aemon questioned the wisdom of this move, but Brandon assured him that these wildlings who were left were largely women and children, the children could be put to good use on the land, and so Aemon acquiesced though there was something about it all that bothered him.

“My love? Are you well?” Ashara asked and Aemon snapped out of his reverie. He looked around and saw he was not on the battlefield no he was in King’s Landing in the gardens with his wife.

“What... yes sorry Ash. I was just thinking is all.” Aemon replied.

“About what my love? Do you need Pycelle?” Ashara asked.

Though the question was asked sincerely and well meant, of course it was it was Ashara after all, Aemon could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance he was not some boy that needed help after a bad dream, he was a man gods damn it. Aloud he merely said. “No my love, it wasn’t one of those. I was just thinking about the war that is all.”

Ashara did not seem all that convinced though. “Pycelle did say that if you start feeling anxious to come and see him. If you need to go, go and I will keep an eye on the children.”

Aemon rolled his eye. “I’m fine Ashara seriously. It wasn’t a dream I was just thinking that is all. Besides I do not think we can trust young Joffrey with Samaira just yet, something about him reminds me too much of Cersei.”

Aemon saw his wife look at their daughter Samaira walking with Joffrey Arryn, with Ser Lucas Corbray walking a short distance behind them in the gardens. “I don’t think he’s as bad as Cersei was at his age. Hells Maekar is not as bad as you were when you were his age my love. He certainly pines after Allyria but not as badly as you did for me.” She teased.

Aemon huffed then and out the corner of his eye he saw Arthur repressing a laugh. “I was not all that bad surely Ashara? Maekar pines after his wife like a love sick puppy. I at least had the grace to act like the king when I courted you. And do not deny it, you were flattered and enamoured with me just as much as I was with you.”

“If you say so my love.” Ashara said before yelping as Aemon began tickling her.

“Your Grace,” Morris Rykker Aemon’s squire said nervously, stopping Aemon from kissing his wife as he so badly wanted to. “Lord Tywin is without.”

Aemon sighed. “Very well send him in.” Morris bowed and then hurried out to bring the hand of the king in. Tywin Lannister had served as the hand of the king for thirty years now, and had served as lord of the rock for thirty four, he emanated power, and he was one of Aemon’s closest advisors. “Ah Lord Tywin, I trust your journey back home went well?”

“Indeed it did Your Grace. Jaime and Lady Rhaena send their love as do the children. You wished to speak with me Your Grace?” Tywin replied, his voice giving nothing away though he must have returned from the Rock but half an hour ago.

“I do, I apologise for asking you here when you have just returned and I know you must be tired but I have one small thing to ask of you.” Aemon said.

“Of course Your Grace,” Tywin replied. “What would you have of me?”

“I need you to look through the old reports that Varys compiled of the Brightflames and I want you to burn them.” Aemon said.

“Burn them Your Grace?” Tywin asked confused.

“Aye. Something the man said to us before the war does not add up, but I do not want anyone getting their hands on this information. None should know it exists. And also, read through the notes your daughter sent us about Baelish. There is something I want to try between those two snakes.” Aemon replied.

“Of course Your Grace. Do you wish for me to keep the notes on the red witch?” Tywin asked.

Aemon turned and looked at his hand then and said. “Aye my lord.”

Tywin bows and then walks out of the gardens, once his footsteps have died, Ashara turns to Aemon and snuggling up to him asks. “Why did you want the letters and accordance Varys has of the Brightflames burnt really my love?”

Aemon strokes her hair and then says. “Because I do not trust Varys. The man comes from nothing and yet he knows everything. I am not sure how this is possible, but it is and I do not want him having more power than he needs to. I have already dealt with one Valyrian who thought he was too big for me, and he died. Varys needs not die.”

“If you do not trust him why keep him? Why not give him over to Oberyn to deal with?” Ashara teased.

Aemon hummed as his wife began kissing his jaw and then nipping his ear. “Because, if I did that, then all the information I need would disappear, and though Varys is evil, he is a good kind of evil. Not like the other snakes that Aerys dealt with during his own reign.”

“I see. And what of me my king? What am I?” Ashara asked coyly.

“You my lady, are mine. And I intend to devour you the minute these children are done with their courting.” Aemon growled.

Ashara laughed and swatted his arm, and then said. “Oh is that so my love? Then you must show me and soon, for I have something I want to show you as well.”

Peace, a joyful thing, it brings out the best in most, and in others, well its best not to think about them.

 


	62. Lords of Summer

**A Maester’s Finale**

The Brightflame threat died with Maegor Brightflame the son of the mighty Aeron Brightflame. His empire crumbled around his children, Gaemon and Daenys Brightflame watched as the various nobles that their father and grandfather had brought to heel through force and fear began to rise up in rebellion, over the next ten years the Brightflame empire would lose Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys, Myr, Lorath, Qohor and the slaver cities. Only Volantis remained part of the empire. And that too under the regency of one Alegro Maegyr, a elephant triarchy who bribed his way into the regency. Gaemon and Daenys Brightflame would grow up to be the joint rulers of Volantis as in Valyria of old, and though some of their advisors would whisper about expanding their reign, they both steadfastly refused to do so and any who mentioned Westeros were hung out to dry or fed to the sea. The pair made it quite clear what they thought of expanding beyond Volantis.

The cities that once belonged to the empire now warred between each other, Bravos had silently broken away from the empire during the war in Westeros and now dominated Western Essos with an iron grip, the Iron Bank and the Faceless men inspiring fear and terror into the hearts of those who ruled elsewhere. Pentos governed by the Tattered Prince managed to remain out of many of the conflicts that arose by allying with Bravos, the mere mention of that city’s name was enough to convince everyone else to leave Pentos alone. The dothraki emerged from out of the shadow led by one successive Khal after another, raping and plundering throughout the shadow and the lands beyond the shadow but never venturing close enough to Volantis to threaten the Brightflames, some said they had learn their lesson after what had happened to Khal Drogo, others claimed that the fact that Gaemon and Daenys came from a red witch, meant that they were impervious to attack. Whatever the cause, Volantis thrived and prospered under the peace that came with Gaemon and Daenys Brightflame.

Across the narrow sea peace and with it summer returned to Westeros, it seemed as if the defeating of the White Walkers lessened the effect winter was supposed to have on the kingdoms. Crops began growing during early spring, and the snows lessened enough to make travel much easier than it had been during previous winters. In the north, led by Lord Brandon Stark and Sigorn the Magnar of Thenn, entered a new age where an alliance was formed between the people of the north and the Free Folk. By decree of the king, land was given to the free folk, that land that had once been known as the gift, and the free folk soon proved their usefulness to the north. Helping to till the land and harvest it and contribute to defending the north from raiders from the sea, pirates who thought to use the winter for their own uses and even during the summer. Though such attempts lessened after a while.

Brandon Stark, the wild wolf was at the end of the war with the white walkers only one of two surviving children of Rickard Stark, his brother Eddard being the other. Their sister Lyanna having died in a bed of blood eighteen years before the war, and their brother Benjen slain by a white walker. Brandon Stark would go down in history as the hero who ended the long night before it could truly begin, and would be celebrated as such throughout the kingdoms, he would reign  as Lord of Winterfell until his death in 320 A.L. from a fever. His son Robb, would rule well into his eighties continuing the peace and prosperity that his father had given him. The rest of his children would go onto achieve a great many things. Brandon Stark the younger would serve in the Kingsguard just as Brandon Stark the elder had, serving first under King Aemon and then under King Maekar and then King Maekar’s son King Aenar. Lady Sansa Stark would go onto to wed Joffrey Arryn, after the heir to the Vale expressed an interest in her, and the princess Samaira decide to join the silent sisters. The Lady Arya would travel around the world, selling her trade as a swordswoman to the highest bidder.

Tywin Lannister served as Lord of the Rock and Hand of the King until his death in 315 A.L, he died in his sleep. His son Jaime would take the reigns as Lord of the Rock and would continue the peace his father had left him as well, ruling until his own death from fever in 355 A.L. The Lannisters enjoyed a period of fame they had not seen since the days before the Blackfyre wars began during this period, seen as the bringers of peace and the defenders of the true king, Aemon Targaryen. That the king held such a close relationship with them only served to reinforce this point. Cerenna Lannister was wed to Prince Laenor Targaryen who became Prince of a rebuilt Vulture’s Roost and one of the most powerful lords in Dorne with his control over access to the Boneway Pass. At least one of Tywin’s dreams was recognised.

House Hightower of Highgarden continued to light the way and grow strong during the reigns of King Aemon and King Maekar, defending the Reach and providing crops and resources for all during the short winter and the harsh spring that followed. The Tyrells gradually came back into the fold and continued to grow strong, though their power was not what it once was and they were still viewed with suspicion by others. Lord Garth Hightower died in 320 A.L. from the same illness that took the king, his son Mern continued the hard work his father had done and continued to expand the Hightower name and influence through various acts, which are too long to note down here.

As for House Targaryen, well the royal family became more and more loved as each year of peace rolled by. In fact when King Aemon died in 320 A.L. at the age of fifty five, the royal family were at their peak of popularity since the days of the old king Jaehaerys. And though some speculated that there could only be a steep decline from here, it seemed the gods had been kind and King Maekar when he came to the throne already a grandfather himself, continued the prosperity of what his father had toiled for. His rule, which last for thirty years was one that continued the peace and saw no wars or fighting happen in it. The crown’s coffers continued to expand, and even boomed beyond previous levels during the falling out of the Brightflame Empire and with trade reopened they continued to grow.

All in all, peace had returned to Westeros and Essos, and this time it promised to be the everlasting peace that the singers sung about and maesters had written of and foretold in ages past. Eighty years have passed since the crushing of the Brightflame rebellion, and the restoration of the long peace, and not a war has been raged since then. Aemon Targaryen, the prince who was promised, the peace bringer, he saw peace return to the world. And with that, the story of Aerys I Targaryen and his descendants comes to a close. Fire and Blood, have finally brought peace and plenty.


End file.
